


For a good time, call Betty

by MotherMaple



Series: For a good time, call Betty [2]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Best Friends, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Phone Sex, Roommates, Smut, Teasing, nudity is not inherently sexual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-11-22 23:11:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 39,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11390379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MotherMaple/pseuds/MotherMaple
Summary: Betty's job should be sexy, but it isn't. Her mother shouldn't be a monster, but she is. And her roommate...her roommate should be so much more.AU best friends/roommates to lovers story, with a healthy dose of sexy friendship and banter thrown in along the way.**This work is inappropriate for readers under the legal age of consent**





	1. Chapter 1

Jughead dropped his key into his pocket and opened the door, shrugging off his jacket and leaving his boots in a heap in front of the shoe rack. He threw his hat onto a shelf and trudged towards the kitchen in search of beer and potato chips. The Friday night shift at the campus bar was exhausting, and he just wanted to collapse on the couch and watch HBO until he fell asleep.

He was about to close the fridge door when he heard a low groan from the living room. He froze, and listened. A needy whine, breathier and higher-pitched.

Fuck. A glance at the clock - he was twenty minutes early getting home, and Betty was still working. He wondered if he should he let her know that he was home. Would she care? Given how open she'd been about her job, probably not, and he'd seen her at it before. Still, it was fair to warn her.

He popped his head out of the kitchen pass-through and waved to catch her attention. Betty was sitting on the couch, wearing what he recognized as his favourite stretched-out hoodie and her own pyjama shorts. A sturdy-looking headset covered her ears and she was doubled over, painting her toenails.

"Oh, yes," she moaned, frowning at her big toe and reaching for a Q-tip and acetone.

He tapped his finger against the wall and she looked up. She smiled and waved, then pointed to the phone and shrugged. "Ooh baby. Say that again," she breathed, raising her hand in the universal sign for 'one minute'. He held up a bottle of beer and pointed to it, mouthing 'want one?' She shook her head and held up a can of soda. 'I'm good,' she mouthed, then gasped into her microphone.

He headed into his room, the sounds of her incredibly fake and exaggerated orgasm following him. Tossing his bag on the bed, he fished sweatpants and a pullover from a drawer and changed out of his dress-code approved black jeans and tee shirt with the too tight, too short sleeves.

"I'm done, Juggie," he heard her call. "Sorry about that, I wasn't expecting you."

"No worries," he answered, ambling down the hall to the living room. He flopped onto the couch and dropped his feet on the coffee table. "Busy night?"

"No more than usual," she said, shoving cotton balls between her toes. "People are weird."

"Said the girl who has phone sex wearing Care Bear pyjamas."

She tossed him the remote control, crossing her eyes and sticking out her tongue at him. "Well I'm sure as hell not going to wear what they think I'm wearing."

He laughed and flipped the channel. "Do they really buy it? How can they not tell it's all fake?"

"Men can never tell, Juggie."

Her phone rang and she looked at the caller ID, groaning. "Shit, I forgot to sign out of the app. Hold that thought." She answered the call with a raspy, "Hello, this is Tiffany speaking," backhanding Jughead when he snorted out a laugh. "Well I've been waiting for your call, Tiger," she purred, flopping back on the sofa and kicking her legs out, rolling her eyes and throwing her arm over her face.

Jughead reached for the remote to turn down the volume for her and she shook her head at him and pointed to the wireless headphones she used when running on the treadmill. He nodded his thanks and put them on, drowning her out and getting lost in Game of Thrones.

She finished the call and tapped him on the shoulder. "Turn it up," she said. "I love this part."

"Did you remember to sign out?" he asked, pulling off the headphones and turning up the sound.

"Yeah. 60 minutes is enough for one night."

He turned his head to look at her, an expression of fond annoyance on his face. "I still can't get over the fact that you work an hour a day and you make three times what I do, even with cougar tips."

She smiled at him in mock sympathy. "Aw, poor you. How many mommies shoved their phone numbers into your pants tonight?"

"More than I care to remember." He raised his beer bottle to his lips and took a long sip. "I really don’t get the appeal."

"You're hot stuff, Juggie. Take it as a compliment."

"Thanks, I think. What are they doing in a college bar anyway? Most of them are older than my mother. That's just inappropriate."

She picked up a magazine and flipped through it idly, watching the TV out of the corner of her eye. "Women hit their sexual peak in their late thirties to early forties. Maybe they think college guys have more stamina than men their own age."

He wiggled his eyebrows and grinned wolfishly. "Well we do, obviously."

"You keep telling yourself that."

"I'm hurt, Betts. You doubt my skill?" He feigned a wounded expression and placed his hand over his heart.

She threw him a Look. "I have no opinion of your skill one way or the other, Jughead. I'm basing my statement on personal experience and I've never once had sex worth writing home about."

"Never?"

"Nope."

"That's really sad, and kind of worrying. I wonder how many girls say that about me."

She smirked. "Like I said, men can never tell when it's fake."

"I could tell you were faking that whole...event."

"Obviously." She rolled her eyes. "They're paying for the fantasy, they don't care if it's real or not. If it sounds like porn, it's close enough. Let's face it, if they could get real women to moan in their ears, they wouldn't be calling me. If I wanted you to think it was real, you would."

He looked thoughtful, a bit concerned. "I'd hate to think a girl I was with felt like she had to fake it with me. Why do they do that, anyway? What good comes of it?"

Betty peered at him over her thick-framed glasses. "One of two reasons, usually. Either to get it over with faster, or to spare a nice guy's ego. They never seem to get that most girls don't get off from penetration. They take it as a personal insult."

"To get it over with faster?" He sounded skeptical.

"If it's not very good, there's no point prolonging it. Fake an enthusiastic orgasm, and most guys get so excited they can't control themselves."

"Wow. And why spare a nice guy's ego? Wouldn't it be better to teach him what's good?"

She nodded. "Yeah, but only if you plan on sleeping with him again. Like Reggie. He responded pretty well to instruction, and he was enthusiastic enough. It was good, he got me there a few times."

"What about a guy you don't plan on sleeping with again?"

"I don't know, it's just an ingrained 'be nice' thing. Like Scott, I knew that was a drunken one-night stand and he was so careful about getting me off beforehand – which I hate by the way – I couldn't bear to make him feel bad."

He sat up straight and stared at her. "You hate that? Isn't that the golden rule?"

She smiled at him patiently. "It is, but it doesn't work for everyone. Once I'm done, I'm done, and it's not nearly as much fun when you're just trying to stay awake. Hence, faking it."

"Huh." He sipped some more beer. "I think I have a lot to learn."

"Don't worry," she grinned. "I was yanking your chain; I hear good things about you. Now, shh. Jon Snow."

…

He came home from work on Saturday night expecting Betty to already be asleep. It was late, and she was a notoriously early riser. He crept in quietly and stopped short when he heard the treadmill going. He stuck his head around the corner and saw Betty in her cheerleading shorts and a sports bra, stomping on a steep incline and moaning ecstatically into her headset.

She looked furious, but her face relaxed when she saw him. 'Water, please,' she mouthed. "God, yes, it's so big. Ooh I wish it was you," she cried. She wiped the sweat off her face and took a water bottle from Jughead, blowing a kiss at him.

'You ok?' he mouthed.

She nodded, drinking deeply. Then, she let out an uncharacteristic giggle. "You heard that? Mhm, sure was.." She rolled her eyes at the ceiling and motioned for Jughead to turn around. He got it; he wouldn't want her looking at him if he was making ridiculous noises like that, either. He went into the bathroom and turned the shower on, shedding his clothes and dropping them all over the floor.

He could hear her, even over the water, and wondered what the neighbours would think; if the sound carried through the walls. Probably that he was the luckiest son-of-a-bitch in the building. Which, realistically, he was, but not for the reason those noises would lead them to believe. Betty was his best friend, and had been since kindergarten, and she was the best roommate a guy could ask for.

He stayed in the shower until he heard her big finish which, he had to admit, was a lot more convincing when he couldn't see her. So convincing, in fact, that he felt a slight twitch. "Hey," he said sharply, looking down. "You cut that out."

He turned off the water, muttering to himself. "Reduced to talking to my dick in the shower because my roommate is charging some Charlie five bucks a minute to listen to her exercise and pretend she's masturbating. I'd write a book but no one would believe it."

He tied a towel around his waist and walked softly down the hall towards his bedroom, passing the living room on the way. Betty had tossed her headset away, but was still taking out some kind of aggression on the unfortunate Nordictrack.

"Bad call, Betts?" he asked, pausing behind the sofa.

"No, you know I hang up on the bad ones. Why do you ask?" she panted, hitting the tempo button and slowing down to a stroll.

He looked at her disbelievingly. "Because you look ready to kill someone."

She almost laughed, leaning on the arm rails to catch her breath. "I thought that was my usual look." She drained the water bottle and climbed off the machine. "My mom called."

"Uh...your mom called Betty or Tiffany?"

"Very funny," she snapped, throwing her towel at him. "This was hours ago. She wanted to remind me that all I had to do to earn her forgiveness was come home and apologize and admit that she was right."

Jughead's eyebrows shot up. "She thinks you should apologize?" He asked incredulously. "After the stunt she pulled?"

He thought back to the first day of freshman year, when Betty had met her dorm mate. She had phoned him almost in tears, anger rolling off her in waves. "She filled out my roommate compatibility survey FOR me, Jug. I didn't even know that was a thing! She said I don't like loud music, and I don't approve of alcohol – not that I don't drink but that I don't approve - and my hobbies include church work, dressage and water colour painting. You should see the girl they stuck me with! She actually filled out her own fucking survey, and guess what? She'd get along great with the girl my mother fabricated when she filled out mine."

"What the fuck is dressage?" he'd asked, bewildered.

"Horse ballet, Jughead! You saw me do it once, remember? I got a blue ribbon and my mother still grounded me because I wasn't good enough. And that was the last time I was on a fucking horse. 8 years ago!" He could hear her shaking through the phone. "She doesn't even try to get to know me, and I'm sick of her controlling my life."

"Okay," he'd tried to soothe her. "Can you live with this girl for four months?"

"I don't really have a choice, do I?" she'd cried. "They can't move me, and I can't afford to move out."

He'd sighed and run his fingers through his hair. "What can I do, Betts?"

"Christ, I don't know. Thanks for listening, though."

"Any time, Buttercup."

"Fuck you," she'd half sobbed-half laughed. "I love you, Juggie."

"Love you, too."

She had managed to stick it out for her first semester, getting along with Amelia in a typically Betty Cooper manner.

Along the way, she'd met Veronica Lodge who had discretely mentioned a phone sex app she'd been using to supplement her income after her extraordinarily wealthy father had cut her off. Betty had been revolted at first, but when Veronica let her listen in on a call, she decided to try it out.

Jughead had been shocked when she'd told him, worried that she was being exploited.

"Definitely not, Juggie. If anything, I'm doing the exploiting. One guy paid me to listen to him blow his nose into his ex-wife's panties for half an hour. They're getting their fantasy, and my voice, and that's it. They don't get my mind or my body, and half the time they just want me to listen. It's brainless work and it pays so well I'm moving into my own apartment in January."

Betty had always been good at compartmentalizing.

Alice had ranted and raved all through Christmas break, threatening to cut Betty off completely if she didn't buckle down and be the good little puppet her mother wanted. For once, though, she'd stood her ground. "I'm done, Mother. I have a job, and I'm moving out."

Mrs Cooper might have been able to move past that, especially since she thought the job was in a second-hand bookstore, but when she had found out that Betty had invited Jughead to live with her, she'd lost her mind.

"You are not living with some boy like a common whore, Elizabeth! I won't have it. You get back to that housing office and beg them to give you your dorm back."

Betty had hung up on her mother, Sharpied a bright red A onto a post-it note and stuck it to her sweater. The selfie she'd sent home had produced predictable results. A week later, FedEx had dropped off the carelessly packed contents of Betty's childhood bedroom, and three days after that she'd received a phone call that she was in arrears for the tuition of her second semester.

Jughead had expected Betty to break down and beg her mother to forgive her, but she'd surprised him. She had more than enough money to pay both her tuition and living expenses, and she was happier than she'd ever been. That had been three years ago, and she hadn't heard from her mother since.

Betty's voice shook him out of his reverie. "Jughead. Hello-o?"

"Sorry. Holy shit, Betts. What did you say?"

"I told her to pound salt."

"Vulgar, but poignant. How'd she even get your number?"

She scowled. "Archie gave it to her."

Of course he did.

"Want me to beat him up?"

That time she really did laugh. "I'd love to see that, but no. I already called Veronica and told her. He'll be sleeping on the couch for a while and that's punishment enough."

"How long have you been on the treadmill? It's like 2 in the morning."

"I know. I’m going to have to bake some cookies for Mrs Miller downstairs. It's been a while, not sure how long. My legs are numb, though." She opened the work app on her phone and checked her logs. "3 hours. I didn't even notice, I was so mad. I'm in better shape than I thought."

Jughead's eyes traced the lines on her sweat-covered stomach and lingered on her firm thighs. "I could have told you that," he teased.

"Shut up, you perv. Soaking wet people strutting around in bath towels shouldn't throw stones," she said, staring pointedly at his abs.

He winked at her and flexed, making his pecs jump in turn.

"Nice," she said. "You pull that trick out at the bar?"

"Damn straight," he said smugly.

She crossed the living room and leaned against him, inhaling his spicy body wash. "You're the best, Juggie."

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. "You too, Betts," he said, kissing the top of her curly head.

She snuggled into him, tucking her head under his chin. "You don't think I'm a whore, do you?" she asked tearfully, after a minute.

"What?" He pulled back, holding her shoulders and staring down into her huge green eyes. She looked exhausted and defeated. "Why would you even ask that?"

"Can you imagine what my mother would say if she knew what I do for a living? Or how many guys I've slept with?"

He looked at her in sympathetic amusement. "What, all four of them? And who cares what you do for a living. You said yourself, it's just your voice. At least you're honest about it. I go to work every weekend and pretend I'm a bartender, but we both know that I don't wear that tee shirt for its aerodynamic properties. I'm eye candy that can pull a pint."

She hiccupped and wiped her eyes. "That you are," she said, chuckling lightly. "Thanks, Jug. I thought she'd lost her ability to get to me."

"Well Alice is a special kind of bitch. I think it might even be a supernatural power."

"Probably. I always suspected her of keeping a broom handy for when Dad needed the car." She sighed. "I need a shower."

"Yeah, me too."

"You just had one."

He nodded in agreement, looking ponderous. "Yeah, but somehow I got covered in sweat again. I dunno, some girl just climbed off an exercise machine and rubbed herself all over me..."

She smacked his shoulder and laughed. "If you're trying to get in there before I can, you're barking up the wrong tree. I might let you wash my back though, since you cheered me up."

"It would hardly be the first time," he said.

That was true. They had a strangely open friendship; purely platonic and entirely comfortable with each other. They'd shared their first bath when they were 6 and had jumped into a massive mud puddle outside of his parents' trailer. His mother had tossed them in the tub together while she went to find clean clothes for the pair of them. They hadn't thought anything of it, and nothing had really changed in the following 16 years.

He'd climbed in the shower with her every day for six weeks when she had broken her arm in second year, helping her shave her legs and wash her hair. She'd dragged him into candle-lit bubble baths, leaning her back against his chest and pulling his arms around her when she'd had unbearable days. They'd road-tripped across the country together the previous year, falling half-naked into bed on sultry summer nights, waking up tangled in each other's limbs.

It was a level of comfort few real couples reached, and they both cherished it, never taking each other for granted. It had, admittedly, raised a few eyebrows amongst their circle of friends, and had caused more than a little jealousy with romantic partners – even though they drew lines firmly against anything that could be construed as improper when either of them were dating anyone. No one had ever competed for the number one spot with either of them; it was filled already.

"Come on, Juggie," she said tiredly. "No sense wasting hot water." She tugged him gently to the bathroom, glaring at him when she saw his clothes all over the floor.

"I was going to put those in the hamper," he said defensively. "I just wanted to check on you, first."

"Uh huh," she said, cocking her eyebrow at him. "Pass me a scrunchie, please. I'm not washing my hair tonight."

She tied up her hair and stripped off her drenched clothes while he adjusted the water temperature.

"Have I ever thanked you for letting me live here?" he asked, dropping his towel and stepping into the huge walk-in shower.

She stepped in after him, closing the glass door behind her. "Why would you have to thank me?" she yawned. "You pay rent, too."

"I pay a third of the rent. If it wasn't for you, I'd be in a shitty dorm shower with a dozen disgusting guys. Instead, I'm in a 6-piece bathroom with heated floors and the most beautiful woman on Earth."

"I thought that didn't matter to you," she said, reaching for her loofa.

He took it out of her hand and poured lavender-scented body wash on it. "It doesn't," he answered, turning her gently around and swiping the rough, sudsy sponge down her spine. "I'm just saying, it's an improvement on the alternative."

She tilted her head down and sighed. "That feels so good."

He traced firm circles on her back with the loofa, pressing harder on the spots he knew carried all her tension. She moaned and leaned forward, resting her hands on the shower wall.

"You okay?"

"Mmm, yes. So much better than okay."

He smiled and hung the loofa on a hook. Sliding his wet hands up her back, he kneaded into her shoulders, squeezing and rubbing the tight muscles.

"God..." she breathed. "You are in the wrong line of work."

He massaged her shoulders and her neck until she was almost asleep standing up, then knelt down and worked on her stiff calf muscles until her knees buckled. He reached for the loofa again, squeezing suds from it, and slid his soapy hands all over her flawless body. She smiled lazily when he gently tickled her sides, and obediently turned under the spray to rinse off.

He had to help her step out of the shower, her legs were so shaky, and he bundled her into an over-sized bath sheet before scooping her up and carrying her to her room. He rubbed her vigorously through the towel and tucked her into bed, his wet hair brushing her cheek when he bent to kiss her forehead.

"Sleep in tomorrow, Betts."

"Thanks, Juggie," she mumbled sleepily. "I love you."

"Love you, too. Good night."

He returned to the bathroom and hung up the wet towels, throwing the laundry in the hamper. He looked down at his burgeoning erection and frowned. "You and I are going to have to have a long talk in the morning."


	2. Chapter 2

Jughead came home on Monday afternoon, frowning over a letter he was reading. "Betty," he called. "Are you home?" 

"In my room!" 

He smiled when he saw her sitting cross-legged in the middle of her bed, surrounded by books and notes, her curly hair wild and frizzy and full of pens. "Mid-terms?" he asked. 

She didn’t look up from her manic highlighting. "You ask that like you don't have any." 

"They're six weeks away. I don't know why you panic every year." 

"I'm not panicking, I’m preparing. I would like to get into grad school." 

He sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb what he was sure was a complicated system. "You're a shoo-in and you know it." 

"There's no such thing as a shoo-in to grad school. Anyway, what's up?" 

He held up the letter. "I just got this notification from the Registrar's office, informing me that the second instalment of my tuition had been received. I haven't paid it yet, so I'm wondering if you had something to do with it?" 

They had this argument every year. 

He'd fought with her when they had moved in together and she had insisted on paying the lion's share of the combined expenses. "Financial experts say that you should split expenses based on income, Juggie. Like it or not, sex sells. I make most of the income, so I should pay most of the bills." 

Her logic had been flawed since they were roommates and not a couple, but she hadn't backed down and he'd given in relatively gracefully, on his stated condition that he would do most of the housework. 

However, when she'd found out that he had an arrangement with the financial department to pay his tuition off in instalments, she'd started secretly dropping large sums on his account, despite him telling her in no uncertain terms not to. 

"I may have had some extra cash lying around..." she said, staring intently at her bedspread. 

"Betty, I asked you not to do that anymore. You spend way too much money on me." 

She nodded. "I know you did, but I wanted to. Call it an early birthday present." 

"My birthday was in October, which was when you paid a third of my tuition for the fall semester." 

Betty sighed. "Jug, you know exactly how much money I make. Even with my undergrad fees and the bills on this place, I still have more than I know what to do with. Who else would I spend it on?" 

"Yourself? Or you could stop working and live on your savings? I hate to think that you're keeping this job because of me. I know you don't like it." 

She waved her hand dismissively. "I don’t dislike it, I'm just indifferent to it. Besides, even if I stopped doing it, I'd still have enough in the bank to pay my way through grad school and make things easier for you. This isn't an Ivy League college. The tuition is reasonable." 

He rubbed his hands over his face. "Betty, I can't accept this. Again." 

"It's done, Juggie, there's nothing to accept. You're going to graduate without any debt. Think about how much easier it will be for you to help for JB if you don't have to pay back student loans." 

His little sister was his weakness. Their parents had grown more and more unreliable over the years, and Betty knew that he'd been sending JB money ever since he'd left home, making sure she had enough for school supplies, nice clothes, and hot lunches. He'd been teased for his shabby appearance and insufficient brown-bags, and he'd be damned if Jellybean was going to be bullied the same way. 

She was due to start college later that year, and he was hoping to be able to support her when he graduated, even while paying his own way through grad school. 

"Betty, that's what's commonly known as a low blow." 

"I know, but I'm pulling it anyway. Look, I took this job for myself, but if it lets me help out my real family, I'm going to. It's too late now, anyway." 

He sighed in defeat and reached out to stroke her cheek. "It's not fair that you have so much heart. No one as beautiful and smart as you should have that going for them as well." 

She caught his hand in hers and turned her head to kiss it, closing her eyes and breathing in the familiar scent of books and ink that always seemed to linger there. "I wish I could say I was immune to your flattery, Jug, but I'm only human." She leaned over her pile of work and hugged him tightly. "I don't know what I'd do without you." 

"Me too," he murmured, squeezing her back. "Are you working tonight?" 

"Yeah, I'm going to do an hour after I finish this." 

He nodded. "Can I take you to dinner afterwards, to say thank you?" 

"Only if it's Indian." 

"I think that can be arranged," he smiled, getting off the bed. "Back to work, lazy bones. Those notes aren't going to colour-code themselves." 

She threw a pillow after him as he left and laughed when she heard him giggling to himself in the hallway. 

… 

"You want me to what? Why, you naughty boy. Mhm. Tell me more..." Betty bounced on the balls of her feet, dancing along with a workout video while she sighed and panted into her headset. 

Jughead wandered in from the balcony where he'd been snapping photos of an incredible winter sunset and laughed when he saw her. 

"Faker," he mouthed, dodging out of her way when she aimed a kick at him. 

She contorted her face into an expression of orgasmic bliss and moaned loudly, looking him dead in the eye. 

He made an "oh, you think so?" face at her and sauntered into the kitchen where she heard him rummaging in the freezer. He came back, unwrapping a Drumstick ice cream cone, and sat on the arm of the sofa. He stared at her while swirling his tongue slowly around the edge of the scoop, and slid his lips around it, engulfing the whole thing in his mouth. 

She choked on a laugh that she somehow managed to pass off as a strangled groan, then glared at him. He stood up and slowly unbuttoned his shirt with one hand, using the other to move the ice cream cone in and out of his mouth. Betty watched, fighting back a smile, as the bottom of the waffle cone sprung an inevitable leak and a sticky stream of ice cream dripped onto his torso. 

"Oh, baby, you're so sexy," she purred to her caller, walking seductively over to Jughead. Maintaining eye contact, she bent at the waist and dragged her tongue slowly up his rock-hard abs, licking up every bit of the ice cream. "I bet you taste so good," she moaned into the microphone, watching Jughead with an evil glint in her eye. Glancing pointedly at his crotch, she turned on her heel and sashayed away, closing her bedroom door behind her. 

He looked down at the obvious tent and sighed. "Traitor." 

… 

"I'm sorry," she said, reaching over and stealing a piece of naan off of his plate, "but you started it." 

He swiped the bread back, tore it in two and handed her half. "You started it, actually." 

"I was working. You started it." 

"Alright, I did, and I admit that you were right. Obviously, it doesn't matter if it's fake if the intent is there." 

"Sorry, can I get that in writing? Did you say I was right?" she teased, scooping up a saucy piece of chicken. 

"You're always right, Betts." 

She leaned back in her chair and smirked, clasping her hands behind her neck. "I know," she said smugly. 

"Don’t let it go to your head," he grumbled. "Want some more bread?" 

"God no, I'm stuffed. I couldn’t eat another bite." 

He shrugged. "More for me." 

Betty shook her head and looked annoyed. "I don't know how you have that body and eat the way you do." 

"You should talk, Miss 3 Pints of Ice Cream a Week." 

"Hey now. 2 pints, maximum." Her grin told the truth. "Want to get the rest of that to go?" She asked. "I've got Jaws on the DVR." 

"You do know the way to my heart, Betts," he said, catching the waiter's eye and signalling for the bill. 

... 

Mrs Kintner had just delivered a resounding slap to Chief Brody's cheek when they heard the knock at the door. 

Betty sighed. "I'm not getting up, I don't care who it is." 

She was sprawled across Jughead's lap wearing vintage volleyball shorts and a ratty cropped sweater. He was tracing idle patterns on her exposed stomach, utterly engrossed in the movie. 

"Spielberg, Betts. He's a legend for a reason," he'd enthused the first time he made her watch it. She had grudgingly confessed her agreement, and the movie became their go-to. 

"Well if you're not getting up, I can't get up," he said, smiling down at her. 

"Sound logic." She sat up slightly and yelled, "Who is it?" 

"Ronnie," came a voice through the door. 

"It's open!" Betty shouted, flopping back down. 

Veronica's appearance was, as always, preceded by the click of her heels on the hardwood floor and the scent of expensive French perfume. 

"Well, you two look cozy," she said, perching herself on the coffee table. "You're so cute it's disgusting, honestly. I hope my marriage is as good as yours one day." 

Betty snorted. "You'll have to find a better prospect than Archie, then." 

"Still pissed?" Ronnie asked. "I don't blame you, that was a dick move." 

"Does he even feel bad about it?" Jughead asked. 

Veronica shook her head. "I don't even think he knows why you're mad. You know how he is about families. He thinks they're all like his, and Mrs Cooper 'had a right to be in touch with her daughter.' I would have stopped him if I'd been there." 

"He's such a suck up," scoffed Jughead. "'He lost the right to invade Betty's privacy when he dumped her for you." 

"Come on, Jug. Don't make me sound like Anne Boleyn. He thought he had a crush on me at freshman orientation and ended it with Betty way before he asked me out." Ronnie frowned. "No, that's not really any better. I'd never have gone out with him if I'd known you, though, B." 

Betty rolled over and nestled her cheek on Jughead's thigh. "I know, Ronnie. It all worked out for the best though. You two are really good for each other. He and I were just a teen comedy cliché that took too long to die. Plus, he eventually introduced me to you." 

"I'm glad you consider that a plus. Anyway, I just came over to see how you're doing. Your mother terrified me when I met her, and that was when she was on her best behaviour for Fred. I can't imagine what she's like when she's being herself." 

Jughead pointed to the TV screen where the Mayor of Amity Island was insisting that everything was alright despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary. All in the town's best interests, of course. 

"That about sums her up," he said. 

"I dunno, I think she's more like the shark, chewing up everything in her path and leaving fear and anger in her wake," Betty said, stretching lazily. 

"Poetic." 

"I thought so." 

Veronica stood up and collected her designer purse. "Horrifying. Anyway, I'm thinking Turks and Caicos for spring break, if you're interested. Archie's coming, though, so I'd understand if you'd rather not. Let me know. Must fly, I'll let myself out. Ciao, lovebirds." 

She swept away and they heard the door click shut behind her. 

"I like her well enough, but I think Archie's a fucking idiot for choosing her over you, just for the record." 

"She's welcome to him." 

"So where are we going for spring break?" Jughead asked. 

"Not Turks and Caicos," Betty answered darkly. "I'd rather go to Amity." 

… 

"Betty!" Jughead shouted excitedly, tossing his phone on the couch and bursting into her room. "Oh, sorry," he said, averting his eyes when he saw her standing there in a lacy bra and matching panties. 

She laughed and threw a sock at him. "Not like you've never seen me naked before, Juggie." 

"There's seeing you naked and then there's walking in on you changing. Isn't there some expectation of privacy when the door's shut?" 

"The world needs more men like you," she said. "You're good, though. I figure you're immune to my charms." 

He stretched out on his side on her bed and rested his head on his hand. "Hardly," he scoffed. "You know how hot you are." 

She poked her head through the neck of her tank top and looked over her shoulder at him. "I thought we'd evolved past that." 

"Mostly, but I'd be a lying jerk if I said I didn't check you out occasionally." 

"I know. You're not very subtle." 

He made a face behind her back. "Neither are you," he shot back. 

"It is what it is, Juggie," she shrugged. "We both have attractive best friends. Fine art was made to be appreciated." 

"I think what I like best about you is your humble nature, Betts." 

She bent over and wiggled into a skin-tight pair of black jeans. 

"Nice," he said. "Put it on a silver platter, why don't you?" 

She shook her ass in his face and collapsed onto the bed next to him. "Did you barge in here for a reason, or were you actually trying to get a look at the goods?" 

"Right. Jellybean called. She got her acceptance letter, she's coming to State next fall." 

"Juggie that's amazing! I bet she's thrilled." 

He rolled his eyes. "There are no words. She won a scholarship that will cover her whole first year, including residence." 

Betty beamed. "She gets her brains from you. You must be so proud of her." 

"Proud and relieved," he said. "I wasn't sure how I was going to pull it off if she had to pay for residence. I know Mom and FP don't have anything put away for her." 

She reached over and stroked his hair. "You know it's not on you, right? Lots of kids get by with student loans." 

He closed his eyes and leaned into her touch. "I don't want that for her. I don't want her to have to worry." 

"I'd help, if you'd let me." 

"I know, but it's not on you either." He stood up and bent over to kiss her cheek. "I have a date in an hour, so I'll have to excuse myself from naked roommate bonding experiences, for the foreseeable future." 

Betty sat up, eyes sparkling. "Who is she? You haven't dated in ages!" 

"Her name is Kendra, and she's in my photography class. She's nice, you'd like her." 

"Want me to make myself scarce tonight? I’m going out for an early dinner with Ronnie but I don't have classes on Friday mornings. I can stay out." 

He shook his head. "Your high opinion of my ability to get a girl into bed on the first date is extremely flattering, but no. We're just going to the pool hall." 

"Okay, well text me if that changes. I don't need people walking in on me describing the correct technique for oral sex." 

"You give lessons?" he asked, surprised. 

"Apparently." 

… 

She had just finished her last call of the night, listening to a devastated man describing the end of his marriage in heart-breaking detail, when she got the text from Jughead. 

*sorry, Betts. Apparently my skill with a pool cue is an aphrodisiac. You mind?* 

*of course not. I'll tidy up. Eta?* 

*15 minutes. You're the best.* 

Betty went down the hall to Jughead's room, which was surprisingly clean for a college guy. She tossed some discarded socks into the hamper and straightened the sheets after making sure they were fresh. 

Nodding her approval, she made a pit stop in the kitchen for a mini tub of ice cream, and the bathroom to wipe down the vanity and toilet. She put a new toothbrush and loofa next to the sink and retreated to her bedroom, closing the door and pulling on noise-cancelling headphones. 

He'd done the same for her, more than once, except her room was usually a disaster with papers all over her bed. 

Two hours later she woke up with a jolt, her cheek resting in a puddle of drool and the judgmental "Are you still watching" screen mocking her from her laptop. She had to pee. She sat up and pulled off her headphones, stretching and easing her feet to the floor. 

Pushing her door open and tiptoeing down the hall to the bathroom, she couldn't help overhearing the breathy moans and pleas drifting down the hallway. Definitely real, she thought with a strange twinge of pride. Then she heard a masculine groan and she paused. 

She listened, then heard it again. 

Well, well, well. 

Using the bathroom as quietly as possible, she slipped back into her room and slid under the covers, turning her pillow over and snuggling into the dry side. She dropped off to sleep, wondering why Jughead, with his reputation as an excellent lover and the enticing soundtrack of a satisfied partner, was faking it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am aware that I have grossly exaggerated Betty's salary. If you're looking for an easy job with great pay, don't follow in her footsteps ;)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Self harm trigger warning in this chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, lovely people! I'm so glad you've been enjoying my little story. This chapter's going to get a little bit heavier, and there is a self-harm trigger warning in place. It is a description, and the actual harm takes place in the past. It's Betty's hands, just like on the show.
> 
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> I've highlighted it like this, so if you don't want to read it, skip the paragraph between the 8s, and I'll summarise what you've missed at the bottom.  
> 888888888888888

Betty woke up obscenely early, as usual, and padded to the kitchen to make coffee, completely forgetting about Jughead's guest. She was half-way into her second cup when his bedroom door opened and a shy-looking face peeked out. She jumped, coffee sloshing over the rim of the mug. "Hey," she said. "Sorry, I forgot Jug had company."

"Hi," the girl said softly. "Are you Betty?"

"The one and only. Want some coffee? Kendra, right?"

The girl stepped out of the bedroom and closed the door softly behind her. "Kendra Morgan. I'd love some, but would you mind if I used your shower first? He, uh, well. I could use a shower." She blushed and let a telling grin creep across her face.

"Of course. That's the bathroom," Betty said, pointing. "I left a toothbrush and a shower puff in there for you. Clean towels are on the shelf."

"Thanks, Betty."

Kendra was tiny and pale with huge blue eyes. Her coppery blonde hair was a marked contrast to the black dress shirt she was swathed in, clearly Jughead's since it reached almost to her knees. Definitely pretty and definitely Jughead's type, with her lithe body and dewy skin. So then. Why the porn-star groans?

Betty busied herself with possibilities while she whipped up a batch of Belgian waffles. She was just slicing up strawberries when the bathroom door opened and Kendra emerged wearing Jughead's ancient flannel bathrobe.

"He won't mind, will he?" she asked Betty uncertainly.

"No, not at all. Waffles?"

Kendra slipped onto one of the barstools and scooted up to the island. "Thanks. Those look amazing. Jughead said you were a good cook."

"He talks about me on dates? That's awful." Betty grimaced.

Kendra laughed. "No, he was telling me about you when we were working on a project together. He's a perfect date." She sighed and looked a little sad.

"I hope that means we'll see more of you?" Betty asked, sitting down across from her.

Kendra chewed a mouthful of waffle slowly. "I don’t think so," she said quietly. "I just broke up with my boyfriend and Jughead was kind of a rebound. I'm not over Jeff. I just didn't expect last night to be so...amazing." She sniffled. "He's going to hate me."

"No he's not," Betty said, reaching over to pat her arm. "He's the most understanding guy on the planet."

Under normal circumstances, Betty knew that Jughead wouldn't have been okay with being used but, given what she'd overheard, she suspected that all was not rosy in the garden. Besides, she didn't want to hurt Kendra any more than she'd already hurt herself.

"You think?"

"I know. Eat your breakfast. He'll sleep for another hour or two if we don't wake him up. You can sneak out if you want."

That was exactly what happened, Kendra creeping into Jughead's room to get dressed and thanking Betty repeatedly for her hospitality. "I'll call him later, and explain," she said as she slipped out the door.

It was nearly noon when Jughead shuffled out of his room, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Betty was sprawled across the living room floor, stacking papers together for a huge project she was working on.

He sank onto the sofa and reached for her coffee mug, frowning when he found it empty. "I feel like an ass. I should have been up with her."

"Sounded like she wore you out," Betty said, tapping her pile against the floor to straighten it. She wasn't fishing. Not even a little bit.

"You heard us?"

She nodded guiltily. "Just for a second, I had to go to the bathroom. Kendra definitely enjoyed herself. Gold star to you."

He smiled without humour. "Sorry, Betty. Did you see her this morning?"

"I did, we had breakfast. She's super sweet."

"She really is," he said, rubbing his temples. "She's going to hate me."

"Why would she hate you? She said last night was amazing, and that you were a perfect date." Not fishing.

"Ugh, that's even worse." He dropped his head and spoke into his hands. "I can't see her again."

"How come?" Maybe fishing a little bit.

He sighed, standing up and heading for the coffee pot. "It wasn't right, Betts."

She frowned at that rather odd statement but left it alone. She'd fished enough. "You should call her, Juggie. Take her for lunch, tell her you want to talk."

"Is that the usual protocol for explaining to a nice girl that it turns out I'm a gigantic douche, and sorry, she was just a one-night stand?" he asked bitterly. "Fill me in, cause I'm new at this." He leaned against the counter, glowering at his coffee.

"No, but I think this is an unusual situation and there's a very good chance you could wind up as friends. Trust me."

He scuffled away, searching for his phone. "If you say so..."

...

"You were right, Betts."

"I'm always right, Juggie. I thought we established that." Betty looked up from the vegetables she was chopping and smiled at him as he came in the door. "So it went okay?"

He picked up a second knife and hip-checked her out of his way. Slicing up a peeled carrot, he said, "Yeah, but I think you knew that already."

"I may have had an inkling. No sense ruining a promising friendship over a night of great sex, if you both felt the same way." She looked down at the chopping board and bit her lip, wondering if she should bring up what she'd overheard.

"It wasn't."

Alright then. "What wasn't what?"

"It wasn't great sex."

She looked sideways at him. "It wasn't? Kendra seemed pretty satisfied."

He smiled grimly and shook his head. "I’m glad I wasn't a disappointment to her, but it's usually only considered great sex if both parties enjoy it. I didn't."

"Why not?"

"I can't explain it. I thought I wanted her. She's smart and sexy, and - well, you saw her. She's incredible, but it felt so wrong. Like I was cheating on someone."

As far as Betty knew, there were no other women in his life. "On who?"

"Fuck if I know. There isn't anyone else."

"But Kendra understood?"

"I know she told you about Jeff, Betts. Don't act so innocent." He laughed dryly. "This is going down as a mutual decision to remain friends. Which, frankly, is more than I deserve."

"It's not," Betty said softly. "I'm sorry it didn't work out, but you deserve to be happy."

"So you keep telling me. What are we making, by the way?"

She looked at the pile of chopped vegetables. "Stir fry, I guess?"

He nodded. "Sounds good. Mind if I have a shower while you finish up? I'm still kind of gross from last night."

"Go nuts, Stinky. It won't take long."

He slapped her butt on the way out of the kitchen. "I like your shorts," he called.

…

Betty looked up from her frying pan when she heard someone trying the front door. She frowned. Kevin, determined to catch them in flagrante delicto, was the only one of their friends who didn't knock, and he was out of town. She flicked the stove off and unlocked the door.

"Mom?" she said, shocked. "What are you doing here?"

Alice pushed past Betty and snapped the door shut behind her. "Hello, Elizabeth. Is that any sort of polite greeting for your mother?"

"I reserve polite greetings for welcome guests. You are an unwelcome intrusion. What do you want?" She said, folding her arms and blocking her mother's access to the rest of the house.

"Enough, Elizabeth. I will not be spoken to like that; I am your mother."

Betty straightened up and levelled a ferocious glare at Alice. "You're lucky I haven't phoned the police to have you removed from my house yet," she hissed. "You gave up all your claims to parental courtesy when you cut me off and disowned me."

"Invite me in, please Elizabeth. I have something to say to you and I don't care to be left standing in the hall like a peddler."

"What are the chances of you leaving before you get your way?"

Alice looked down her nose at Betty. "None."

"Fine. Won't you come in, Mrs Cooper. The living room is just through the hall." Betty turned and stalked into the living room, throwing herself into the only armchair.

Alice took her time settling into the sofa, placing her purse neatly on the floor and smoothing non-existent wrinkles from her skirt before sitting on the edge of the cushion and crossing her ankles.

"Your home is lovely," she said stiffly.

"Thank you."

"Elizabeth, since you were so impossible on the phone, I had to come and talk to you in person. You're graduating in a few months, and it's time to make some decisions about your future. Your father and I think that you should work for us at the Register for a year before beginning your graduate studies.

"No."

Alice forged on as though she hadn't been interrupted. "We are prepared to finance your Master's degree in journalism on the condition that you move back home and conduct yourself in a manner befitting our name."

"Still no."

"What other options do you have?" Alice asked disdainfully. "You must be miles in debt after this ridiculous charade of independence."

Betty scoffed and looked out the window. "You'd know if you'd bothered to stay in touch with me. I didn't change my number until a year after you sent my stuff over – mostly damaged, by the way. You obviously know where I live, so you could have written."

"You were so irrational, Elizabeth, just because I tried to find suitable company for you - "

"No, Mother, you tried to control me. You tried to dictate who I would see and what I would do with my life. I was an adult and you were treating me like a child. You knew nothing about me. You know nothing about me."

Alice's eyes narrowed. "I know what's best for you."

 

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Betty rose angrily out of her chair and stormed over to her mother. "Look at this." She said, showing the palms of her hands. "Look at those scars. Do you know how difficult it is to pierce the skin on your own hands? Do you know how hard I had to push my nails in to make myself bleed, to make that pain worse than the pain you put me through? See how they're all healed except one? Just one, Mother. From when you phoned me last weekend. That was the first time in three years that I did this to myself, and it was because of you."  
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"You were unstable, Elizabeth. If you'd listened to me and taken your medication you would have been fine."

"That was not my medication; it was not the right medication for me. I saw a therapist after you threw me out of your creepy, Stepford world. I don't have ADHD. I barely even need medication for my anxiety. What I needed was to be away from you and in control of my own life. I've put myself through college, I can afford grad school and a PhD if I want it, and I'm about to graduate cum laude. All without your help. So you can take your ridiculous suggestions and shove-"

"Betts, are you okay?"

Betty looked over at the bathroom door where a sopping wet and concerned-looking Jughead was hovering, a towel hanging loosely in front of him, the shower still running behind him.

Alice stood up and turned to face him. His jaw dropped and he quickly shifted his lower body to hide behind the door.

"Alice. To what do we owe the pleasure?"

"Forsythe." She sneered at him. "Do you think it's appropriate to be seen in that state of undress by a young lady?"

"This is his house, Mother," Betty snapped, losing her temper completely. "He can run around stark naked if he wants to and, frankly, I have no objection."

Jughead turned his head into the bathroom and bit his lip, trying to hide a sudden grin.

Alice rounded on her. "That is not how you were raised. Do you have no respect for yourself?"

"Hell yeah, I do," she said, ignoring Alice's increasing rage at the curse word. "I also have a healthy respect for Jughead's body. He could spend every damn day like that, and I would sit right here and fucking enjoy it."

"I wish I could say I was shocked, Elizabeth. I taught you better than this, but you've never had any decency; swearing, and running around with boys and dressing like a trollop."

"That's me. The foul-mouthed whore of Riverdale, who likes looking at attractive men and has both shoulders and knees."

"You should be ashamed of yourself. If this is how you choose to live your life, then fine. I won't trouble you further." Alice looked back at Jughead. "Just like your father, no good at all."

She grabbed her purse off the floor and sailed out of the house, slamming the door so hard the windows rattled.

"And stay out," muttered Betty. "Sorry about that Juggie, I shouldn't have dragged you into it."

"No worries," he said, leaning casually against the door frame, the towel lying forgotten on the floor. "It sounded pretty heavy. What happened?"

"Aside from her showing up here? She wants me to come home and behave, and work at the Register for a year. Then they'll pay for a journalism post-grad."

He wrinkled his nose. "You're a crim major."

"Yup."

"Your minor is in psych."

"Uh huh."

"You plan to be a profiler."

"Correct."

"A Masters in journalism sounds like a great way to achieve that goal."

"Doesn't it?"

He shook his wet hair out of his eyes. "So gym or bubble bath?"

She nodded her head towards the kitchen. "Food first, then gym. You've had a hard day, too."

"Should I get dressed, or do you prefer me 'running around naked'?" he asked with a cheeky grin.

"Dealer's choice, but I'd suggest shorts at some point. I saw Mrs Miller's mother checking out your ass the other day."

"Noted."

…

The gym in their building was well-equipped and scarcely used by anyone but them. Betty's favourite feature by far was the punching bag, followed closely by the state-of-the-art sound system.

She fished a set of wraps out of a small cubby and immediately set to work on her hands while Jughead plugged his phone into the stereo. 'Bodies', by Drowning Pool poured out of the speakers and she dropped to the ground, knocking out several pushups to warm up her shoulders before laying aggressively into the bag.

He spotted it for her, knowing she preferred to hit it when it wasn't swinging wildly. Her angry grunts and the sound of her fists pummeling the thick canvas carried over the loud music for 20 minutes until she stopped suddenly, dropping her hands to her knees, breathing into her chest. "Fuck, it's hot in here," she gasped, peeling off her sweaty top. "You want a turn?"

"Yeah, cause I'm eager to follow that performance," he joked. "Hold a target for me?"

"Sure," she said, picking up a padded target and holding it steady as he kicked and punched, moving fluidly, not wasting any motions, hitting the center of the pad each time. Sweat poured down his chest and pooled in the lines of his abs, dripping to the floor.

The muscles of his shoulders and back bunched and rippled as he jabbed, and Betty had to dig deep to keep up as his hits became more aggressive. Finally, one solid shot sent the pad flying out of her hands and across the room. "Shit," she said, impressed. "That was awesome."

"Thanks," he panted, picking up her shirt and wiping his face with it.

"Just what I always wanted," she drawled as she tidied away the equipment. "Your pheromones all over my clothes."

"Oh. Why didn't you say so?" he asked, rubbing the fabric into his armpits. "There you go," he added, tossing it over her head.

She wrinkled her nose and held the shirt between her thumb and forefinger. "I think I'll risk being caught in the elevator in my bra."

"Your loss, Betts," he said, throwing his arm around her shoulders. "Come on, there's a garden tub with our names on it upstairs."

"Showers first."

"Obviously."

...

An hour later they were sprawled in their oversized bathtub, up to their chins in bubbles, sharing a bottle of red wine that Veronica had given them as a Christmas gift.

"Normal people probably do this as foreplay," mused Betty.

"Normal people are weird, though," Jughead pointed out. "They think they're going to do this and be all sexy and romantic, and I'll bet that nine times out of ten it ends in a fight."

She stretched out under the water and flexed her toes. "What could there possibly be to fight about? You've got wine, bubbles, good company. It's perfect."

"They go in with high expectations. That's almost always guaranteed to end in disappointment. Like I said, normal people are weird."

"Good thing we're not normal," she said.

"Too right," he answered, clinking his glass against hers and taking a sip. "Veronica really does have excellent taste."

"Yeah," Betty snorted. "She got this out of that catacomb her dad calls a wine cellar. It probably came over on the Mayflower."

He considered the glass carefully. "Ah yes. I heard that the rain in 1620 made it the best year on record for Merlot," he said in a pedantic voice.

"You're such a dork," she laughed, elbowing him.

"But you love me," he answered, sliding his arm around her shoulders and drawing her in. She curled up into his side and rested her cheek on his chest.

"You know I do."

"So hey," he said, fingers playing in her hair. "You never told me about your hand."

"You heard that?" She sighed and shifted her weight, lifting her arm out of the water. "It wasn't that bad," she said, showing him. "I caught myself in time; it didn't even bleed."

He held her wrist and kissed the tiny cut. "I'm sorry, Betts."

"It's not your fault. She's been driving me over the edge for years. Remember that time she burned the black sweater Archie's mom gave me for my birthday?"

"The devil sweater incident. She had you in sugar pink every day for a week after that."

"Her own personal Chastity Pledge Barbie."

He threw back his head and laughed. "If she could only see you now."

She grinned smugly. "Phone Sex Barbie, now available in a waterproof model for bath-time fun."

…

"I am not telling you about Jughead's dick. If you want to know so badly, ask him out yourself. It's not like I'm sleeping with him; I've never seen it hard."

"Oh please, Betty," Nancy argued. "Everyone knows about your weird, non-erotic playdates. You can't honestly expect me to believe he sees that" gesturing dramatically at Betty's body, "naked and doesn't get it up."

"If he does, he can't help it and it would be rude to notice," she answered primly.

Midge snorted in disbelief. "I call bullshit, Cooper. Don’t tell me you've wasted this opportunity. Jughead's sexy as fuck and there's no way you wouldn't look."

"Yeah," said Nancy. "Every girl on campus would kill to be in your shoes."

"And most of the guys," added Ethel.

"It's true, B," Veronica admitted. "Even I'm curious."

Jughead was working his Friday shift at the bar, and Betty was taking advantage of his absence to host a sleepover. She'd told her friends about her horrible encounter with her mother the previous weekend, and Jughead's subsequent cheering her up, and they'd jumped on the information like horny vultures.

"It's not like that. Wine is good for misery, and so are bubble baths and cuddling. We just combine the three for maximum effect."

"And the fact that bubble baths require nudity?"

"Secondary to the fact, and a complete non-consideration."

"Stop talking like a lawyer." Nancy crawled over and crouched nose-to-nose with Betty. "You expect us to believe that you're completely oblivious? You've never checked him out?"

"Of course I have, when he's decent. I'm not blind. I do have some standards though, and it would be fucking weird to take advantage of him when he's taking care of me like that. He trusts me."

"God, does your moral compass ever waver? You nauseate me," Midge shook her head in disgust.

"Sorry to disappoint, girls. You'll just have to use your imaginations."

"Don't worry," Ethel chirped. "We do."

Betty heard the front door close and jumped off her bed. "I'm going to warn him about you four. Stand by."

She made her way down the hall and found Jughead kicking his boots off and hanging up his coat. "Hey, Juggie. How was your night?"

"Usual," he said, tossing his hat on a shelf and smiling at her. "Drunk jocks, grabby cougars, half-naked freshmen. You?"

"The girls are over, I thought I should give you a heads up. They're drunk as hell and prying for information about your junk. You might want to make yourself scarce."

He made a disbelieving face and shook his head. "Your friends are weird. Last time she was over, Midge flat out told me to take off my clothes."

"Yikes. Better hope Moose never finds out."

"I know, right?"

"Trying to talk like a girl is not going to get you invited to my party. I'm hosting a sleepover, not an orgy."

"Damn. Guess I'd better go to bed then."

"And probably lock your door."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Betty angrily shows her scars to her mother, reminding Alice that her terrible parenting had been her breaking point. She also tells Alice that she hadn't hurt herself since cutting off contact with her family, but had started to upon receiving her Mother's phone call the week prior.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I sat down to write one thing, and this came out instead. Less dialogue, more thought, and a bit more angsty than I intended. Stuff is about to go down. Turns out I'm a method writer because I followed the thinker right down the rabbit hole of emotions. So if this reads like a panic attack, that's because it was.  
> I really hope you all still like it.

Jughead stayed in bed the next morning until he heard Betty's friends leaving. He was used to them and their teasing comments, but he wasn't prepared to face them en masse so early in the morning. It was nearly eleven when he finally stuck his head out the door. "Betts," he whisper-shouted. "Is it safe?"

"Coast is clear," she called from the kitchen.

"Thank God. I'm starving." He went into the kitchen to find Betty, in boxers and a bra, frying bacon on the stove, and a mug of coffee next to his usual seat. "You're an angel," he said, hugging her from behind. "I hope you're going to share that."

"All yours, Juggie. We ate earlier. Coffee's on the island."

"I don’t deserve you," he said, swallowing half of the coffee in one gulp. "How was your night?"

Betty piled bacon and scrambled eggs onto a plate and passed it to him. "You really want to know?"

He shovelled food into his mouth. "Of course I do. I took an anthropology course last semester and it's made me insanely curious about the social rituals of drunk women."

"Well I can't speak for all drunk women, but mine talk about sex a lot."

"That honestly doesn't surprise me. Anything in particular?"

She flashed a teasing grin. "You, your body, your hands. Once I finally pushed them off that subject, they started comparing notes on their boyfriends' bits and pieces. Ethel and Midge tag-teamed my app and decided that phone sex is not for them, but they enjoyed the attempt immensely. We drank half a 40 of tequila, ate 4 pizzas and 2 gallons of ice cream, and passed out dressed like this after a terrible rendition of 'Sandra Dee' and a naked pillow fight."

"Really?" He looked intrigued, but sceptical.

"No. You did come up though, and we did drink a lot. And eat."

He laughed. "You just conjured up every teenaged boy's fantasy of sleepovers and threw it at me?"

"Of course. Not my fault you're gullible."

"I only half believed you. What about my hands?"

"Apparently they look strong."

He looked down at them. "What does that even mean?"

"It's a good thing," she assured him. "And it's true, you do have strong hands. All those hours of video games, I guess."

"You finished the last Call of Duty in two days, Betts. I've got nothing on you."

She flexed her fingers and smiled. "Yeah, but no one seems to notice strong hands on a girl. They don't have the same connotation."

"No," he said seriously. "It's more about tongue, and you never stop talking, so..." He trailed off and grinned at her.

"You're a pig, Juggie. I hope you know that."

"Yup."

She shook her head and wiped out the frying pan, laughing quietly to herself.

…

He spent the afternoon in the library, perusing old copies of the local papers for a photojournalism project. He was camped out in a dark corner, surrounded by mountains of paper and wishing he'd remembered to bring headphones, when he caught Betty's name being spoken by someone in the stacks.

"She's so hot man, and I bet she's a freak in bed. Have you seen her ass? Man, I'd love to get my hands on that."

"You're kidding. She's hot but she's way too uptight. She probably just lies there and counts to 1000."

"Naw, man. It's always the quiet ones. She's probably banging that bartender she lives with, though."

Jughead sat there, stunned, rage boiling through him. He and Betty had open lines of communication; they knew about each other's sex lives, but only in confidence. He would never talk about her or his dates to other people and he knew Betty didn't kiss and tell. It infuriated him that two strangers would sit in public and talk about her like that, make assumptions about her.

He was about to stand up and confront them when he realised that the voices were getting farther away until he couldn't hear them. He huffed angrily and glared at his project in disgust, his motivation gone. He slammed the newspapers onto the clerk's desk with a muttered apology – knowing deep down he'd come back the next day with a cupcake and a real apology for the sweet girl who had patiently helped him source all of his major projects - and stomped out of the library, fuming.

He didn't even know where he was going; certainly not home where he'd no doubt find Betty whipping some creep into a frenzy of desire. Usually, he found it funny but he couldn't get the disgusting taint of those two voices out of his head and he didn't want to associate it with Betty's job. It wasn't like that; it wasn't real and he knew it. No need to turn it into something twisted and dirty.

He turned and headed towards the bar, an hour early for his shift.

When he stormed in through the staff entrance, Reggie turned to him in surprise. "Hey man, what are you doing here?"

Jughead glowered as he threw his bag into his locker. "Working," he ground out.

"You're not on the schedule until 6."

"I won't clock in."

Reggie looked at him questioningly. "Sorry man, you have to or you can't work. OSHA regulations."

"Fine!" Jughead slammed his hands on a desk. "I'll fucking clock in. It's only a 5-hour shift, there won't be overtime. I'll come in late on Friday. Think the boss will mind?" he yelled sarcastically.

"You know I don't. But," Reggie hesitated "are you okay?"

"I’m fine," Jughead growled. "Sorry," he added, more civilly.

Reggie shrugged his shoulders. "Don't worry about it. I could use the extra manpower anyway. Julie's sick and it's busy. Karaoke night; guess they're all getting good seats."

Jughead sighed as he changed into his uniform, glaring in the mirror at the way the tee shirt accentuated his body. It didn't usually bother him but, today, he hated it.

And karaoke night. He really hated that.

…

Two hours later, he'd been run off his feet to the point where his boiling rage had dampened down to a light simmer, but it was still there. When he handed two cocky-looking juniors their beers, he heard them talking about one of the waitresses, making the same kind of comments that had so infuriated him when he'd heard them about Betty.

"Show some fucking respect, you Neanderthals. You don't talk about women that way."

They looked at him in surprise, about to mouth off, but the fury in his eyes and the ripple of his toned arms, tensed by his clenched fists, shut them up.

"Drink your beer, pay your tab, and get out. I don't want to see you here again tonight," he whispered, his voice flat and lethal.

"Whatever man. You can have her," one of them muttered.

He watched them as they followed his orders, drinking quickly, paying and sauntering out as if they owned the place. "Reg," he said shortly, "tell me about that girl," pointing to a random woman on the dance floor.

Reggie came over and looked at her, confused. "Pretty, about 20, red-head. Decent dancer, blue dress, here with friends."

"No, tell me about her. What do you think of her tits? Would she be a good lay?"

"Dude," Reggie hissed, grabbing Jughead's arm and dragging him into the back. "What the fuck? Are you drunk?"

Jughead glared at him. "Do you really think I'd put you in the position of having to explain a drunk bartender to the license inspectors?"

"No, but man. That was vile, you don't talk like that."

"No, I don't. And neither do you, or any other decent guy I know." His point confirmed, Jughead sagged against the wall.

"So why the caveman act? You been body snatched?"

He pressed his hands to his forehead. "I wish."

"What's this about?"

"Betty."

Reggie's expression changed from confused and annoyed to protective in an instant. "What about Betty? Someone hurt her?"

"No. God no. Not that she knows of. I overheard some trolls talking about her in the library today. Talking about her body, what they'd do to her. It set me off. I was cooling down when those two clowns I just threw out started saying shit about Brenda."

"Oh." Reggie nodded, understanding dawning. "So that tantrum you were throwing earlier was because someone insulted your girl?"

"She's not my girl, Reggie."

Reggie rolled his eyes. "I had the same conversation with Betty when we broke up. She ever tell you about that?"

"Not really, just that you weren't comfortable with our friendship."

Reggie sighed. "Look, before I say this, I want you to know that I'm over her. We dated for a bit, and it was fun, but it wasn't love and we both knew it. It's been a couple of years, she's a good friend and I just want her to be happy."

"I know you're over her, Reg; you're engaged to Cheryl. Get to the point."

"I was never uncomfortable with your friendship with Betty. I think it's weird, and I don't understand how you can do the shit you do with her and not have it get sexual, but whatever. You do you. But, whenever something happened to her; good news, bad news, funny tweet, it was always you that she called first, not me. That was the part I wasn't cool with. You're her first thought, and that's not changing. Who's your first call?"

"Betty."

"Because she's your girl."

"It's...we're not like that. She's my best friend. We've been like this our whole lives. Nothing's changed since we were kids"

Reggie's eyebrows shot up. "You're telling me that when you've got her naked in the shower, you've never once thought about pressing her up against the wall? You've never shared a bed with her and thought about crossing that line?"

"What? No! Of course not! The body does what it does, but I've never fantasized about her. God." He looked ill. "What kind of heel would do that? It would be worse than spying on her."

Reggie smiled paternally. "Not you, obviously, but you should consider it."

Jughead glared at him murderously.

"Not like that, don't turn into a creep. But think about it; you have the relationship already, a better one than most normal couples. All that's missing is the lust and the label. Could that protective streak be jealousy?" He walked away, leaving Jughead in the storeroom, throwing a parting shot over his shoulder. "You could do a lot worse than Betty Cooper."

…

It was nearing the end of Jughead's shift, and he'd successfully tuned out the majority of the terrible singers that had graced the stage. Reggie's little pep talk lingered in his mind, but he concentrated furiously on his work, and never had there been more precisely layered B52s in the Cat and the Fiddle bar.

He was starting to think he might survive the night when the opening chords of Heart's "Crazy on You" played. It was his mother's favourite song; his throw-back to happier times in his childhood, and he couldn't stand amateurs butchering it at karaoke. It happened rarely, fortunately. It was a notoriously difficult song to sing and most people didn't try. But nothing else had gone right tonight, so there it was. Someone trying.

He gripped the edge of the bar and bent his body 90 degrees, groaning in frustration as he stared at his feet on the sticky mat.

And then the singer joined in. He'd know that voice anywhere. He'd heard it a million times floating around his house. He looked up and saw her, her blonde hair shining under the stage lights, her body hugged tightly by a black leather spaghetti-strapped dress, her glossy lips sparkling as she sang. Girls' night out with Ronnie. He'd forgotten about it.

Betty strutted around the stage, owning it. The bar was silent as she belted out the high notes with conviction and growled out the low notes like she'd been doing nothing else all her life, walking the tricky transitions like a casual stroll in the park.

She was stunning, ethereal. He felt his mouth hanging open in shock. It wasn't a secret that he thought she was beautiful, but it was meaningless. He was indifferent to her looks in all the ways that mattered, or at least he had been. He was looking at her as though he'd never seen her before. It wasn't just her appearance either, it was something much bigger. He felt his heart thump uncomfortably in his chest when she caught his eye and smiled, that sweet, loving smile that was just for him.

Unchecked, he drank her in; his eyes tracing the lines of the dress he'd never seen before, searching through her dark makeup for the bright green he knew so well, watching her fold her body as she wailed out the chorus.

His legs were shaking as he leaned back against the beer fridge, his mind spinning a thousand miles a minute. His first thought was to blame Reggie for planting seeds in his head, but he knew that wasn't it.

Something had changed since that first mud bath 16 years ago. Somehow, he'd fallen for Betty and hadn't noticed. When, though? His thoughts jumped to Kendra, how wrong it had felt to be buried inside of her, the guilt he'd felt and not been able to place. Some time before that, then.

He closed his eyes as pictures flashed before him, unbidden; Betty leaning over him, her luscious body rubbing against his, those sultry moans of hers sounding in his ears. He'd told Reggie the truth. He had never fantasized about Betty before, but now he couldn't stop his brain from conjuring up images of her, of them together, of everything they could be.

The room was spinning, he had to get out of there, but then-

"Jughead?"

He opened his eyes and there she was. He tried to speak but nothing came out.

"Are you alright, Juggie?"

'"Yeah," he croaked. "Sorry, bad sushi. You were incredible."

She looked concerned. "Should you be working? Your shift is almost over, can't you go home?"

Home. How could he go home with her, feeling like this? How could they go on with their unusual closeness, their teasing banter, their matter-of-fact conversations and wildly inappropriate jokes?

He'd have given anything in the world to keep it all the same as it had always been.

He thought of her absolute comfort around him. Would she feel that way still if she knew? The observer changes the nature of the observed and she had always thought he wasn't looking. He couldn't lie to her and pretend not to see her. He could tell her he was seeing someone else, put a stop to all but the most innocent interactions, maintain some semblance of their closeness without betraying her trust. But, then, how could he think of her trust when lying to her?

What if he told her the truth? He didn't see how it could go well. She'd change around him, if she didn't feel the same - and he didn't dare hope that she might.

Falling in love was not supposed to feel like this.

He muttered "Sorry, bathroom," and darted into the staff room, her worried voice calling after him. He locked himself in and paced like a caged animal until Reggie's voice outside, his fist pounding on the door, forced him to his senses. He opened the door and let in his boss, his second-oldest friend.

"Betty sent me, man. Are you sick?"

"You were right, Reg. I love her."  
…

  
Reggie sent a worried Betty home with Veronica, telling her that Jughead was coming home with him, that Cheryl had insisted on getting his opinion about bowties that very night. Betty argued, saying Jughead was sick and should be home in bed, but Reggie overruled her, stating flatly that he didn't want to deal with his volatile fiancée if she didn't get her own way, and promising to take care of Jughead.

Jughead poured out his heart to Reggie and the slandered Cheryl, telling them his newly discovered feelings, his terror at seeing Betty and the horrible choice he faced between telling her the truth and lying to her, knowing that everything they had, everything between them, would change regardless.

Cheryl was shockingly sympathetic and understanding, murmuring quiet platitudes and stroking his back until he fell asleep on her over-priced sofa, pushed along by the expensive brandy she'd ordered him to drink

He woke up, groggy and disoriented, and wanting nothing more than to be at home with Betty. It was late morning and Reggie was already gone. Cheryl, resplendent in a crimson velvet robe and marabou slippers, made him coffee and plied him with an egg-white-and-spinach omelette.

He'd slept through the urgent phone calls, hurried decisions and quickly executed plans. Cheryl, insisting that it was too soon for Jughead to see Betty, had instructed Reggie to beg Betty for help in shopping for the perfect wedding present for his bride-to-be.

"Please, Beebee? The wedding's four months away, and Sherry's going to start hunting for it soon. If it's not hidden by the time she thinks it should be, I'm a dead man."

How could she say no?

Cheryl herself had called Veronica. "Jughead's in love with Betty."

"Tell me something I don't know, Cher-bear," Veronica had said lazily.

"No, Nic. I don't mean he loves her. I mean he's in love with her, and it's that can't eat, can't sleep, reach for the stars, over the fence, World Series kind of love"

"Tell me, for the love of God, that you didn't just quote the Olsen twins."

"Shut up, this is serious. He's a mess; he thinks he's going to lose her."

"Why do you care?"

Cheryl had sighed grumpily. "She's my sister-in-law, and I love her even if her mother is a psychopath. Jughead's okay, too, I guess."

"You old softie," Veronica had teased.

"What are we going to do?"

"This is between them, Cheryl, We can't meddle."

"I survived high school by meddling, Veronica. I'm not stopping now."

"Fine, what do you propose?"

By the time Jughead choked down enough of the tasteless, healthy breakfast to satisfy Cheryl, the wheels were in motion. He knew nothing about it, but Veronica had booked an impromptu girls' night in New York City and texted Betty the details. She was to be at the airport at 4 and would return the next day. No excuses.

Cheryl drove Jughead home, leaving him with a warm hug and her reassurances that everything would be alright. He let himself into the apartment, expecting to find Betty there doing her usual Sunday routine of exercise and phone sex, but found Veronica instead.

"Hey, Ron," he said, warily and wearily. "What's up? Where's Betty?"

"Out with Reggie. Cheryl ordered him to keep her busy so they're shopping for pearls."

He closed his eyes and exhaled through his nose. "Why would Cheryl do that?" he asked.

"Sit, Jug."

He obeyed, steeling himself for the worst.

"You love her."

"So it would seem."

Veronica patted his knee softly. "What do you want to do?"

"Not love her."

"Why?"

He looked like he was going to cry. "Because we were perfect, and now everything is going to change."

"Nothing's perfect, Jug. Not Betty, not you, not even what you have."

"We were perfect together, Ronnie," he insisted softly.

"You have to tell her."

He leaned his head on the back of the sofa and stared at the ceiling. "I know."

"I'm taking her to New York tonight. Tell her before she leaves, and let it sink in. She's going to need time to process it, and you need to think about your options if," Veronica closed her eyes. "If she doesn't feel the same," she whispered.

What else could he do? His grandmother had always said that there was nothing to be gained by waiting.

Veronica left, wishing him luck and promising to look after Betty if she took the news badly. "You've got the best relationship, platonic or otherwise, that I've ever seen. This won't break it. You're in a better starting place than most people who fall in love."

But he had a lot more to lose.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My stomach was in knots writing the start of this! You'd think I was the one walking the proverbial plank.  
> Thank you all for your amazing comments; I'm sorry that I stopped replying to them but some of you were getting too close to guessing! I read them all and they make my day :)
> 
> Hope you enjoy...

Jughead was sitting on the sofa, playing with his old knitted cap, when Betty came home. It had been his security blanket as a teenager, but he hadn't worn it since moving in with Betty. He hadn't needed it. Now, it was taking everything he had not to put the ratty thing on his head, complete with the scent of dust and mothballs that went with it.

"Juggie? Are you back?"

"Living room," he called, shoving the hat between the sofa cushions.

"What a morning!" she chirped, dropping onto the sofa with a sigh. "Reggie's such a goofball, did he tell you what he was up to? He wants to hide a wedding present for Cheryl to find, but it's just a decoy. I've got the real one right here. Honestly, those two are adorable. Then Veronica decided she absolutely had to see Hamilton tonight, so we're leaving for New York in like three hours. How are you feeling? You look pale."

He smiled wanly at her. "How many coffees did it take to get through a morning of shopping with Reggie?"

"Am I that bad?" she laughed. "3, plus a brownie sundae." She looked closely at him. "What's wrong?"

"I need to tell you something."

"Shoot."

Nodding mechanically, he took a deep breath and stared at his hands. He opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. "Betts-" He exhaled and shook his head. "I don't even know where to start."

"The beginning is usually a good place," she smiled. "Hey." She knelt in front of him and cradled his jaw in her hands. "What is it? What can I do?"

Jughead reached out and brushed a lock of hair off of her face. "You're so beautiful, Betts," he murmured. He closed his eyes and held his breath for a beat. "I love you."

"I love you, too, Juggie." Confusion and concern were etched all over her face. "Tell me what's bothering you so we can figure it out."

The absurdity of it all brought a wry, twisted smile to his face. "That's what's bothering me. I love you."

She sat back on her heels and looked at him, bewildered. "Why would that both – Oh."

"Oh," he repeated, relieved to have it out, and dreading the follow-up.

She stared at him, shocked. Her eyes were an emerald storm of questions and protests and – worst of all – fear. "You love me."

"More than anything."

"Not like you loved me before?"

"No. Well, yes. That's still there, too. But, no."

His confusion almost made her smile.

"Say something, Betts," he pleaded.

"I don't know what to say," she whispered. "I never expected this."

He huffed a short laugh. "You're telling me."

"When?"

"I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun," he quoted.

"Honestly though, Juggie."

He leaned back on the sofa, pulling her up with him and sighing in relief when she rested against him. She didn't hate him. He could do this, he could pretend for a minute that everything was fine, that he could tell her anything. "Remember what I said about Kendra? How it felt like I was cheating on someone?"

"Yeah."

"I think it was you."

She tilted her head to look at him. "You think?"

"I only figured this out yesterday. It hit me like a tonne of bricks and I’m still trying to work it all out. I hadn't dated for a while before Kendra, so sometime between, what, October? and last week."

"That's why you looked so awful last night?"

"I was freaking the hell out, Betts. I'm afraid this is going to ruin everything."

"It won't," she promised.

"How can it not? Think about our life. Two weeks ago I was in the shower with you, thinking nothing of touching you everywhere. Last weekend we were drinking wine in the bath together, joking about the idiots that try to be romantic doing the exact same thing. Think about the things we joke about, and the implications they should have."

She nodded against him, waiting.

"When I saw you on that stage, it wasn't objective anymore. You weren't just Betty, my friend, who happened to be amazing. I saw a life with you, a real future. I wanted you; I saw us making love. I've never done that before."

"Never?"

"Not once," he vowed. "You're my best friend, and that was it. You've let me see you naked in every sense of the word. I would never have taken what you'd shown me and used it like that. You trusted me."

She frowned. "I said the same thing to Nancy and the girls, on Friday night. They couldn't believe I'd never peeked. I said I'd never take advantage of you when you were taking care of me. You trust me."

"What a pair we are." He shifted on his cushion, looking at her. "Betty, you're everything to me and I can't have a life without you in it. If all you want is friendship I'll take it with both hands, but I hate how awkward it will be."

"We would get used to it, I think," she said softly, and he felt his heart break.

He nodded, unable to form words. It was no more than he expected, but still...

She saw the hurt on his face and hated herself for putting it there but she forged on; he had done her the courtesy of being honest, and she would do the same. "I'm sorry, Juggie, I don't know what to say. This is such a shock. I can't say it would be easy. Obviously, things would change between us. I couldn't bear to think I was teasing you. I've never meant to." Her eyes filled up with tears.

"You haven't, Betts. I didn't know until yesterday. If our situations were reversed, I'd be just as surprised as you are."

"What now?" she asked, wiping her face.

"Everyone knows. I spilled my guts to Reggie and Cheryl last night, and she took matters into her own hands while I was asleep."

"She knew about the shopping trip?"

"Knew about it, choreographed it. Apparently, she wanted to give me time to sort myself out."

"And New York?"

"She bullied Veronica into giving you space to think, if you needed it. And me, I guess. "

"Who knew Cheryl was so sensitive?"

He laughed shortly. "Must be the wedding planning getting to her."

"Must be..."

"Betty, would you do something for me?" He softly brushed a tear from her cheek, letting his thumb drag lightly against her skin.

"Anything."

"Think about it." He looked down at his hands, twisting his fingers together. He spoke very quietly, as though the words cost him something. "Think about whether or not you could love me. I can't promise you anything, but maybe we could have something together."

She nodded, looking away and blinking back tears. "I have to go, Veronica is expecting me and I need to pack. Will you be alright?"

"Cheryl's coming over later with Reggie, to work on the seating chart and cheer me up. So, no."

She laughed a little bit, fighting back a sob. "I promise I'll think about it."

"Thank you. I'm going to go for a walk until you leave." He stood up, offering her his hand. "I'll see you tomorrow, right?"

"Of course," she said, tangling her fingers into his and squeezing. "I lo-" she checked herself. "You mean the world to me, Juggie." She pressed her lips to his cheek, breathing him in for a minute, then vanished into her room.

…

Betty stood with her back to her door until she heard him leave the house, then sank to the floor, shaking and numb. How could this have happened? They had everything going for them, and now it was gone. Even if he forgave her for breaking his heart, they could never go back to the way things were.

With trembling hands, she dialed Veronica. She answered on the second ring. "B..."

"Do you know?"

"Cheryl told me. Are you alright?"

"No. What am I supposed to do, V?" Even to her own ears, she sounded broken and lost.

"Are you alone?"

"He's gone. He went for a walk."

"I'll be right there."

Veronica swished in five minutes later and curled up on the floor with her arms around Betty. "I'm so sorry, B. I'm so sorry."

Betty turned and buried her face in Veronica's chest. "How can I face him?" she sobbed. "I've ruined everything. We were so happy yesterday."

"I know. Shh," Veronica said, cradling her head. "Shhh. It'll be okay."

"I need to get out of here."

"Smithers is waiting. Where's your bag?"

Betty sat up slowly. "I haven't packed."

"Go wash your face, I'll do it." Veronica climbed gracefully to her feet and pulled Betty up. "Go on. It'll be okay."

Betty obediently went to the bathroom and washed her ashen face. She collected her toiletry kit from under the sink, trying not to look at her reflection, and returned to the bedroom. Veronica took her in hand like a toddler, dressing her in an elegant blouse and trousers. "First class, B. There's a dress code."

They waited for the elevator together, hand in hand, and met Smithers at the door. He took the suitcase and surreptitiously pulled a handful of Lindt chocolates out of his pocket, slipping them to Betty.

"It'll all come out in the wash, Miss. Don't worry," he said.

It was a mercifully short flight to New York, and they arrived at the Mandarin Oriental in time for dinner. Veronica took charge, ordering every dessert on the room service menu, several bottles of expensive wine ("Not red, V. Anything but Merlot.") and a selection of appetisers.

"Have them sent to our room as soon as possible, please," she said, passing out tips with a liberal hand.

Betty barely made it to the massive bed before she broke down again, sobbing into the feathery pillow, clutching the sheets in hands that itched to curl in on themselves. Veronica sat down beside her and gently pried her fingers apart, placing a squishy stress ball in each palm. "Don't, B. You're so strong."

She squeezed the bright green balls until her knuckles turned white and she ran out of tears, only able to lay prone on the bed, hiccupping and letting out the occasional sob through shuddering breaths. Veronica stayed with her, silently rubbing her back until she was calm enough to sit up.

"There's my girl," she said, smiling encouragingly. "Now, let's sort this out."

They changed into fluffy bathrobes and tucked themselves into the silky sheets. Veronica placed the huge room-service tray between her leg and Betty's, and handed her a bottle of wine and a glass. "All set," she proclaimed.

Betty tried to smile, and nibbled at the snacks. "What do I do, V?"

"What do you want to do?"

Betty sighed. "Go back in time to before all this."

"Funny, that's almost what Jughead said when I asked him the same question."

"You talked to him?"

"Before you got home. I wanted him to know you'd be here tonight."

"You guys really organised all of this today? For us?"

"It was Cheryl's idea. I told her to stay out of it, but you know how she is. Surprisingly, she wanted to make this as drama-free as possible. I figured she was right." The irony of flying first class to New York and staying in a four thousand dollar hotel room in order to avoid drama was apparently lost on her.

"Thank you," Betty said sincerely.

Veronica chuckled. "Don't worry, she won't let you forget it." She was quiet for a minute. "B, you can't go back in time. He's in love with you. What did he say?"

Betty frowned, thinking. "Everything. It was really beautiful, actually, which just makes it worse. He loves me. He wants to be with me." She sighed. "He asked me to think about whether I could love him."

"He's brave, I'll give him that. He could have kept quiet, pretended he didn’t care."

"No, he couldn't. He's better than that."

Veronica permitted herself a small, hopeful smile. "Could you?"

"What, pretend?"

"Love him."

"I do love him, he's my other half. But it was never supposed to be romantic; I've never seen him like that." She rubbed her forehead wearily. "God we were so stupid!" she burst out. "We should have seen this coming."

"It sounds like it snuck up on him. Are we sure it's not just a crush? Or repressed lust?"

Betty slid her fingers into her hair, covering her eyes with her hands. "No. You should have seen the way he looked at me. No one's ever looked at me like that before. It was written on his face, plain as day. And I felt nothing." Hot tears leaked out of the corners of her eyes.

Veronica watched Betty, considering her words carefully.

"Why did you break up with Reggie?"

Betty looked at her. "What does Reggie have to do with this?"

"I talked to him, after you finished shopping this morning. Why did he end it?"

Betty drew a shaky breath. "Because Jughead was my first call, he said." She smiled. "Reggie doesn't like coming in second."

"And yet he's marrying Cheryl," Veronica joked. "Betty, Reggie knew he could never compete with what you and Jughead have. You just called him your other half. What's going to happen when one of you meets someone and it's real? Is your husband only going to get half your heart? Is Jughead still going to be your first call?"

"Why have my sisters husbands, if they say they love you all?" quoted Betty softly.

"What?"

"Shakespeare."

"Of course." Veronica rolled her eyes. "What do you mean though?"

"I've never thought about that. I've never been in love, never pictured a life with anyone. I guess when I look at my own future, it's like it is now; just me and - "

"Jughead," Veronica finished.

"And Jughead. Wow. We've really set ourselves up for failure, haven't we?"

"Or a brilliant success, depending on how you look at it. You guys have such a solid relationship, and it's honestly amazing to see. You're the best kind of old married couple; you've just skipped a few steps. Have you ever kissed him?"

"No."

Veronica turned on her side and stared at Betty, surprised. "Never? No truth or dare, or spin the bottle, or midnight at New Year's?"

"Never. I mean, he kisses me all the time, but never on the lips. It's always been so innocent, if that doesn't sound ridiculous coming from someone who bathes with her best friend."

"A little bit ridiculous, but I know what you're saying. You know what you need to do, B."

Betty sighed softly. "Do I?"

"You have to figure out how you feel. I know you said you've never thought about him like that, but you need to. Reggie says you've already got the relationship, and all that's missing is lust and a label. It kind of sounds like he's right, so it's time to let your mind wander. I'm going to the spa in an entirely selfless attempt to give you some privacy, and you're going to stay here and think about love and sex with one Jughead Jones the Third."

…

Betty eased into the jacuzzi tub and swirled the water aimlessly. It wasn't much bigger than the one she had at home, but she felt lost and exposed in it by herself. She missed Jughead's solid presence next to her, his strong arms holding her close and making her feel loved and safe.

Was she attracted to him? No. He was attractive, yes, but so was Veronica. She appreciated his face and his body the same way she did any other nice view. Objectively, she knew that Midge was right: Jughead was 'sexy as fuck', just not to her.

But reviewing what she already thought was not going to help her decide.

Ok. Sexy Jughead.

She closed her eyes and tried to see him there, his black hair curling in the steam, his toned body lying next to hers. Jughead had never really kissed her but she knew his lips, what they felt like on her cheek, soft and full. It was surprisingly easy to imagine them pressed against hers, his hands tangling in her hair.

The idea of his hands made her smile, thinking of the ridiculous conversation they'd had about them only the day before. They were certainly strong, she thought, remembering them kneading away her tension in the shower, massaging scented bubbles into her wet skin, moving up the smooth curve of her waist, gently sliding over her breasts.

Oh.

She let her hands wander across her body as his had done, and pictured the look on his face when he'd seen her singing the night before. It had been desire, she just hadn't realised it. She knew what his breath felt like on her neck, she knew what his muscular shoulders felt like under her hands. Her breathing turned shallow as she wove the innocent memories into a new, enticing fantasy.

She saw him smile, that teasing grin he'd produced when trying to torment her with the ice cream cone, and she almost moaned when she remembered his hot skin and quivering muscles under her tongue. He really did have an incredible body, she thought to herself, as she pictured the skillful, easy way he moved when they sparred.

He was so much bigger and stronger than her, and the thought of being pinned under him was enough to make her dizzy. His thick hair brushing her skin when he kissed her throat, her breasts, her stomach...

One of his ex-girlfriends - probably trying to make her jealous - had told her, giggling, "He has a six-inch tongue and breathes through his ears"

Her hands had followed her thoughts, and she was surprised to find herself wet and swollen. Now seeing him nestled between her legs, she imagined those firm hands pressing her thighs apart, his velvety eyes looking at her as he teased her with his lips and tongue, his long fingers twisting inside of her...

She came with his name on her breath; her heart pounding, her mind reeling. Panting and flushed, she lay in the cooling water, shocked at how easy that had been. Sex with Jughead was a definite possibility, and not an unwelcome one, either.

Love, though. Sex and love were not the same thing. She did love him - with all her heart. It wasn't romantic but it was real. Happy couples burned bright and eventually settled into the pattern she and Jughead already shared. She could be with him on those terms, easily. She knew that wasn't what he wanted, though. He wanted that last, mysterious element. And there was the final hurdle.

One thought kept running through her mind. In the moment he'd told her that he loved her, she hadn't felt anything but shock. If she heard it now, with her mind open to a whole range of new possibilities, what would she feel?

Second guessing herself every step of the way, she retrieved her phone from the vanity and opened FaceTime.

"Betty? Are you okay?" Jughead's face came onto the screen, looking drawn and miserable and ten years older. She'd broken his heart and he still worried about her.

"More or less," she said. "I’m sorry, Juggie, for leaving." For all but turning him down and then leaving, she admitted to herself.

"It's okay. Cheryl was right. I needed to lick my wounds a bit." He tried to smile, but she knew it was forced.

"Me too," she whispered, shifting and balancing the phone on her knees.

"Are you calling me from the bath?" he asked, his eyes widening at the sight of her bare skin peeking out of the water.

She grimaced. "I didn't think, I'm so sorry." She moved the phone so only her face was on the screen. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

"Old habits, I guess," he said quietly.

"Yeah..." She sighed, and got to the point. "Juggie, I need you to do something for me. I'm really sorry for asking, but I need you to say it again. Tell me you love me."

He looked pained. "Why?"

She closed her eyes. She was torturing him, and she knew it. "I was so shocked when you said it before, I didn't feel anything. I think if you say it again I'll know how to answer you."

"Over the phone?"

"God, Juggie. I wish I was there to do this properly, but our adorable, insane, protective friends have put a hundred miles of bubble wrap between us. Please, just say it."

He stared hard at her image on his little screen, his lips pressed together. He looked away and blinked several times. Finally, he sighed in resignation and looked straight into the camera. "I love you, Betty."

His face softened in spite of himself, and she could hear the raw honesty in his voice even through the tinny speaker.

She was silent for a minute, her heart fluttering in her chest. "Wow," she breathed.

"What?" he asked without inflection, as though he was waiting for her to say thanks, but no thanks.

"Just, wow," she whispered. "I didn't know it would feel like that."

"Like what?"

"Amazing. I can't even describe it." She could feel the dazed smile on her face. "It felt right."

"It did?" His voice had lost its dull, defeated quality, but he still looked unsure.

"Yeah," she sighed happily. "I can't say it back yet, Juggie, but I think I will soon. I'd like to give this a real try. I think...I think we could have something together."

"What do you have in mind?"

She chewed her lip. "Try to be ourselves, carry on as normal, see where it takes us? It's stupid to talk about dating when we live together, but something along those lines. Yesterday I would have said I couldn't fall in love with you, but I was wrong. All the elements are there, I just need a little time ."

"What if it doesn't work? We might be able to go back from this, but we'd never recover from a real relationship."

"We'll have to fall back on sex," she said seriously, her eyes twinkling. "I've spent the last 40 minutes picturing it, and I have to tell you: it didn't suck."

"Oh, really?" The cheeky, teasing grin that spread across his face the best thing she'd ever seen. "Worse relationships than ours have survived on a diet of wine and sex," he mused.

"That's the spirit, Juggie."

He grinned and changed the subject. There was too much to talk about, but it wasn't the time or place. "So Cheryl came over."

"You poor thing. Do tell."

He laughed. "Your little shopping extravaganza may have been a front, but the seating chart was definitely not."

He went on to describe Cheryl barging in through the door with a cheerful "We're he-ere! And I have tofu cheesecake!" followed by a deeply apologetic Reggie carrying a huge cardboard diagram of the wedding hall and a stack of index cards with 400 names printed on them.

Five minutes later she was in stitches as he imitated both Cheryl and Reggie arguing about the various relatives, family feuds and potential scandals ("Aunt Laura can't sit with Uncle James. They haven't spoken since Laura's daughter dyed her hair brown!") while he sat and watched them, eating cheesecake. "It's not bad, covered in whipped cream and canned strawberries."

Finally, feeling like the water would freeze over if she stayed in the bath any longer, she placed the phone against the mirror and stood up in the tub. The overhead lights danced in the water streaming off her glistening body, and she stretched gracefully before carefully stepping out.

"Hi again," she said, picking up the phone. "Sorry, the water was freezing."

He didn't answer.

"Juggie?"

"Oh my God," he breathed.

"What?"

He chuckled "You didn't even realise what you were doing, did you. That was the sexiest thing I've ever seen."

She blushed furiously and pulled a towel around herself. "No, I didn't."

"I think that's good, right?"

"I didn't mean to tease you."

"I know." He leaned back on the sofa. "Wow. I thought I knew your body, but I had no idea it would do that to me." He winked at her. "You're right about one thing, though. If love doesn't work, we can definitely fall back on sex."

"I’m always right, Juggie."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, there will be at least one more chapter. I wouldn't leave it here.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are amazing with your comments and your love. Thank you so much! Sorry for the slight delay; events overtook me and I had to pretend to be a functioning adult for a few days.  
> To all of you that said one more chapter wouldn't cut it, you were right. I'm determined to keep this realistic, and there is no longer any kind of estimate for how many chapters are left.  
> Thanks for sticking with me!  
> Hope you enjoy...

"Ready, B?" Veronica stood next to her, looking up at the apartment building.

"I think so. I hope so."

Veronica put her hand on Betty's back and propelled her forwards. "Go, then. Good luck."

Betty turned and wrapped her in a tight hug. "Thanks for everything, V. You're the best little devil I've ever had on my shoulder."

"Remember that, when it's time to choose baby names."

Betty laughed and shoved her gently. "Sure thing. I'll call you."

"Ciao, Bella."

Veronica let Smithers help her into the town car and waved goodbye as Betty straightened her shoulders and marched into the lobby. She took the elevator to their floor and then proceeded to stare at the number 9 on their front door for 60 seconds, counting her heartbeats. 82. The door opened and she jumped back. "Christ, Juggie. Don't sneak up on me like that."

"Right, sorry. I totally should have knocked before I opened the door. From inside the house." He reached out and took her suitcase. "What were you doing?"

"I have no idea." She stepped inside and closed the door. "Hi," she said shyly. "I missed you."

He pulled her into his arms and crushed her against him. "I missed you, too, Betts. Part of me thought you'd never want to see me again."

"You'll have to work harder than that to get rid of me," she said, sliding her arms around his waist.

He kissed the top of her head and spoke into her hair, his voice muffled. "Are you sure about this?"

"I'm not really sure about anything, Juggie." She leaned back and looked up at him. "But I want to give it a shot."

"Did you really feel something, though? I don't want you to settle." He held her face in his hand and searched her eyes for answers. "If you think you have to do this because it's the only way to save what we have, I need you to tell me."

She reached up and smoothed his hair back. "The thought briefly crossed my mind, but no. I really felt something. Anyway, what we had couldn't go on forever. I can't see a future husband or wife putting up with it, can you?"

"It would make for interesting reality TV, that's for sure."

"Right? Look, I know I made a crack about falling back on sex if this doesn't work, but I was only half-serious. Yeah, we could easily take what we have, add some smut, and carry on for the rest of our lives. We'd wind up like every other comfortable middle-aged couple who spends Saturday nights on the couch, wondering when the last time they had sex was but not really caring, and I think we would have been happy. It's not what I want though. What about you?"

"No. I don't want to be friends with benefits. I want the real thing."

She nodded "Ditto. So, we'll try. I might fall in love with you, and then we can work on turning into that middle-aged couple and at least know we got there on purpose."

"And if you don't? Or you do and then we break up anyway?"

Apprehension flickered across her face, but she shook her head and shrugged philosophically. "Then we split up, move out, and go out there and find the right person. It would have gone that way, regardless, if yesterday hadn't happened. One of us would have eventually met someone and broken up the party."

"That wouldn't have hurt as much," he pointed out.

"No, but I prefer either of those options to giving up now. If we don't try, then we lose what we had and we miss the chance to be happy together."

"You make it sound so easy," he said, with a half-smile. "But your logic is sound, Spock. Any ground rules?"

"Bathroom stays sacred to naked roommate bonding experiences. No boyfriend-girlfriend stuff allowed."

He looked at her quizzically. "That seems kind of backwards, doesn't it?"

"I like it the way it is. It's comforting and easy and perfect. The last thing I want is to try to be sexy in a shower, end up ruining the whole thing, and never go in there with you again."

"Fair enough."

"And, no matter what happens, even if we crash and burn, we have to find a way to stay friends."

He nodded. "That goes without saying."

"So, can I come in now? Or do you have a sphinx hidden somewhere with a riddle for me?"

He laughed, realising they were still standing in the doorway. "Sorry, Betts. That's been bugging me all night. I had to ask."

"All good, it needed to be said." She kicked off her shoes and hung her jacket up. "Do we have any food? I'm starving."

"We have the same food we had when you left, plus the leftovers of Cheryl's tofu cheesecake."

Betty smiled affectionately. "Bless that girl. She tries so hard to be nice."

"Yeah, but she cannot cook."

…

"Juggie, I just got the strangest email from my TA." Betty came out of her room where she'd been putting away Veronica's deemed essentials, including enough clothes for at least a week in New York.

He looked up from his phone. "What's that?"

"He's sorry I was sick this morning and hopes the attached audio file of the lecture will help me catch up on what I missed. That's a bit weird since the Luddite professor doesn't allow recording devices in class. Any insight?" She leaned against the wall and folded her arms, quirking an amused eyebrow

"Professor Ashton is the only dinosaur in this place that doesn't tape his lectures and post them. I knew there was no way I could follow along enough to take any notes on that course for you, so I bribed your TA to sneak his phone in and record it."

Betty leaned over the back of the sofa and kissed his cheek. "That was really sweet, Juggie. I didn't even think of the classes I'd miss when Veronica kidnapped me."

"You'd do the same for me."

"Of course I would. How did you bribe him?"

Jughead screwed up his face. "His fiancee wants engagement photos."

Betty bit back a smile. "Wow. I really owe you one."

"You can buy me dinner. Feel like take-out?"

…

"I wonder why they named him Bruce. That's a weird name for a shark."

"He's named after Spielberg's lawyer," Jughead answered, reaching over Betty and grabbing a slice of pizza.

"Huh. That actually makes a lot of sense." She briefly thought about sitting up. "Can you pass me another piece?"

Jughead looked down at her, lying on the couch with her head in his lap, and rolled his eyes in amusement. "Don't get the sauce on my jeans," he said warningly as he shoved the box closer to her. "I don't know how you eat lying down like that."

"Necessity is the mother of invention, Juggie. I’m hungry, I'm lazy, and I'm comfortable. Is there any ranch sauce left?"

He laughed and passed it to her. "You are the least lazy person I know."

"Fine then. Hungry and comfortable."

"You look comfortable," he said, tugging at her shirt. "Isn't that mine?"

She grinned up at him. "Girlfriend privileges. I get to steal your clothes, now."

"Well, when you put it like that..."

"Want my pineapple?" Turning back to the TV, Betty plucked the offending fruit off her pizza and held a chunk up to his mouth, like she'd been doing for years.

"Always." He caught the pineapple with his tongue, letting his lips graze briefly against her fingers.

She rolled over to stare at him with eyes like saucers. He met her gaze innocently. "What?" he asked, blinking at her.

Pushing herself off his lap, she twisted around until she was kneeling beside him. "That was different."

"It's a changing world, Betts."

"Apparently..." She sucked in a breath and looked down at her hands. "Want some more?"

"If you're offering," he said with a suggestive lilt to his voice.

She picked up another piece of pineapple and held it out for him, watching as he leaned forward to take her fingertips in his mouth and closed his lips around them. He sucked the pineapple between his teeth and swirled his tongue around her fingers, tasting the sticky juice. Pulling her hand away, she sat back and asked in a too-casual voice, "Jug, in general, would you say that you tend to kiss on the first date?"

"That depends," he teased, sliding his hand up her neck. "Is this a date?"

"I think so," she whispered.

"Then yes," he murmured, pulling her closer. "I would say I definitely kiss on the first date."

It was the slightest brush of his lips on hers, but it confirmed everything she'd thought she felt the night before. She sighed faintly and kissed him again, letting her lips slide sensually against his, leaning her hand on his chest, her fingernails tracing his collarbone. She pulled back with a smile and saw him looking at her, a dazed expression on his face. He snaked his arm around her and hauled her onto his lap, facing him, one hand low on her waist, the other cupping the back of her head gently, but so firmly that she knew she couldn't escape even if she wanted to.

They stayed like that for what felt like hours, her straddling his lap, him holding her impossibly close, their noses touching, trading lingering kisses between whispered nothings.

"I have a good feeling about this, Juggie," she said finally, draping herself across his chest and resting her head on his shoulder. "I think this is going to work."

…

Jughead walked into work on Friday, whistling.

"Ok, now I know you've been body-snatched," Reggie said. "You're not going to keep that up all night, are you?"

Laughing, Jughead tossed his bag into his locker and pulled off his jacket and shirt. "Nah, I was just proving a point. I’m sorry I was such a dick when I came in last week." He pulled on his uniform and leaned against the locker bank. "I really owe you and Cheryl."

"Something, something, sap, sentiment, something, something, that's what friends are for, something."

"Roger." Jughead clocked in then looked over his shoulder at Reggie. "Is this weird? Me dating your ex-girlfriend?"

"Not as weird as me marrying my ex-girlfriend's sister-in-law," Reggie shrugged.

"Yikes. I didn't think of that. How's it looking out there tonight?"

Reggie snorted in disgust. "Packed, rowdy, loud. Clint's under the weather so I might need you to bounce a bit if it gets any busier."

Jughead gripped Reggie's shoulder as he passed him on the way to the bar. "No worries, man. I got your back."

He didn't regret saying that, per se, but his loyalty to Reggie didn't stop him from swearing under his breath three hours later as he let himself into his apartment and painfully tried to take off his jacket. 

The sound of Betty hard at work, uttering filthy commands and condescending praise, drifted down the hallway and straight to Jughead's groin. "Come on, really? Since when are we into that shit? Have a little pride," he said, looking down. "Last night I got it, but this is ridiculous."

He carefully set his bag on the floor and crept quietly into the living room. Betty was stretched out on the couch in a fluffy robe, purring orders into her headset and flipping through a Men's Health magazine ("The articles are better, and so are the recipes, Juggie."). She jumped when she heard him coming, and her eyes flew to the clock. She looked at him questioningly and he just shook his head and sank down on the couch.

"Did I say you could touch yourself? No, I didn't. Now you beg." Her voice was hard and cold but she was looking at him softly, scanning him for the source of whatever she suspected was bothering him.

He smiled at her and leaned over to kiss her cheek, then pulled on the wireless headphones and flipped on the TV.

Final Jeopardy was just finishing when she ended her call and tapped his shoulder. "Hey. What are you doing home? Is everything okay?"

"Fine, now. We had a little trouble at the bar."

"Trouble with what, exactly?" she asked suspiciously.

There was no way to explain without her worrying. "K, hear me out and don't freak; I’m okay."

"That never means anything good. Promise you're okay?"

"Cross my heart."

"Alright then, let me have it," she said, pretending to brace herself.

He chuckled wryly. "It's not that bad. Clint went home sick so I was on the floor. One guy got belligerent with Julie, and I had to ask him to leave. Fucking guy was built like Gregor Clegane, and he didn't want to go."

"You should have called the campus police."

"We did, but he started causing too much trouble while we were waiting, and we had to drag him out. He fought dirty, dislocated my shoulder."

She gasped and reached out instinctively, stopping short before she touched his arm. "Oh my God, Juggie. Do you need to go to the hospital?"

"No," he said, grinning morbidly. "One of the many perks of being friends with Reggie is that his shoulder popped out a lot when he played football. He put it back in for me, but it hurts like a bitch now." He winced. "Actually, everything is starting to hurt. He was definitely a worthy opponent, God damn him."

"Do you want some ice?"

"Yeah, actually, that would be great. Thanks."

Betty hopped off the couch and bustled into the kitchen, coming back with a bag of frozen peas. "Which side?"

"Left."

Gingerly placing the cold pack on his shoulder, she said "At least it wasn't your right arm. That's something. What can I do?"

"Not much, really. I'm just going to take a shower, load up on ibuprofen and hit the sack before the adrenaline wears off. I don't want to be awake when the pain really kicks in."

"Solid plan," she nodded, hesitating. "Will you manage alright in the shower?" she asked doubtfully.

He considered it, then shook his head. "Honestly, probably not. The guy did a number on me and it hurts to move. Do you mind? I wouldn't bother but I'm covered in beer and blood and it's disgusting."

"Of course not," she said, taking the bag of peas back. "I'll put these in the freezer for now. Come on." She held out her hand to help him off the couch. "Are you going to be able to take your shirt off?" she asked when she saw him grimace at the effort.

"Not without whining like a hungry toddler. Just cut it off. It's torn anyway."

Tossing the peas into the freezer drawer, she grabbed the scissors from the knife block and followed him to the bathroom. "Hold still, I just sharpened these." She cut the shirt away from his body, cringing when she saw the ugly bruise that spread from the middle of his arm to his collar bone. "I've never seen one that bad before. Are you sure it's back in properly?"

"I'm sure. I could move it fine an hour ago, when Reggie first did it."

Softly kissing his shoulder, she stepped around him and turned the water on. "Hot or no?"

"Hot, please." He slowly stripped off his sticky, dusty jeans and threw the rest of his laundry in the hamper.

"God, Juggie, you're covered in scrapes and bruises," Betty said, looking at him. "Were you the only one dealing with this guy?"

"No, there were two of us. I told you, he was a fucking mountain. Reggie's got a nice shiner; Cheryl's going to kill him when she sees it."

"Probably." Betty put her robe on the hook and stepped into the shower, grasping Jughead's elbow as he followed her.

"I can probably manage most of it, but can you do my hair?" he asked, reaching for the shampoo.

"Just relax, Juggie," she said, taking it from him. "I've got it." Steering him under the hot spray, she poured shampoo into her hand and stood on her toes to massage it into his hair, digging her fingers gently into his scalp.

"I can see why you like going to the salon so much," he said, with a Cheshire Cat grin. "That feels nice."

"You don't get your hair washed when you go for a haircut?" she asked, surprised.

"Not like this," he said, letting her tilt his head back to rinse out the suds. "It's very manly and efficient there."

She shook her head sympathetically. "Machismo deprives you all of so much," she said, running her fingers through his thick waves, splashing the clean water in.

"I'm starting to see that," he said. "I think I'll try going to your hairdresser."

"You'd like it, you get a spa robe to wear and everything."

"I'm sold," he said.

She lathered her hands with his body wash and very carefully began to wash his torso. He sucked in a breath when she got too close to his sore shoulder. "Sorry," she whispered, biting her lip.

"It's okay, Betts. It would hurt a lot more if I was trying to do it myself."

She nodded and continued, soaping up his chest and back, sliding her hands up his sides and under his arms. She hesitated as she moved towards his hips. "I think you should probably do that part," she said, blushing. She turned her back to him and watched the water droplets run down the glass door while she waited.

"All done."

She turned around to help him rinse to soap from his back, vaguely aware of their nudity and the close proximity of their bodies. It was a bit different than before, but not outrageously so. It was still nice. Not quite as innocent, she reflected, but nice. He stepped out and wrapped a bath sheet around his waist, passing her another, and sat down on the toilet lid so she could rub his hair with a towel.

"Do you want me to blow dry it?" she asked, working a comb through the tangles.

"Nah, it dries quickly."

"Alright, then. You're all set. Off to bed, Juggie. I'll bring you some meds."

He was tucked into bed when she came into his room, armed with peas, arnica, and ibuprofen. He swallowed the pills while she rubbed the cold ointment gingerly into his many injuries. "It helps a bit with the swelling and the bruising," she explained, wrapping the peas in a thin cloth and placing them on his shoulder.

"Thanks, Nurse Betty," he said, reaching up to slide his good hand around her neck. "C'mere."

Holding her towel firmly in place, she leaned down and kissed him, gasping when he sucked on her bottom lip and flicked his tongue out. She sank down on the bed and melted into him, her lips falling open under his, her tongue stroking tentatively into his mouth. He groaned softly and tightened his grip on her neck; she tasted like chocolate and something uniquely Betty and he couldn't get enough. He sat up painfully and pulled her flush against him.

"Juggie," she said breathlessly as he tilted her head back and kissed his way hungrily down her neck, biting and sucking, leaving a trail of faint red marks on her pale skin. "Juggie, we have to stop. You need to sleep."

"This is more important," he insisted, tracing the shell of her ear with his tongue. "I can sleep when I'm dead."

She moaned and tangled her fingers in his hair, holding his head in place even as she protested."You're going to wish you were dead if you don't fall asleep soon," she gasped. "Those bruises are already getting worse."

"I know you said the bathroom is off limits and I swear I behaved while we were in there, but now I can't stop thinking about it," he mumbled into her throat, his tongue soothing an angry-looking bite mark. "You're so fucking sexy, Betty."

She shivered and clenched her thighs, mentally agreeing with his assessment of the shower. "Juggie," she said firmly. "I'm sorry, but you have to sleep. You're running on adrenaline and oxytocin right now, which is why you think you're not in pain, but I promise you that you are." She pulled away and dragged herself reluctantly off the bed.

"It's really hot when you talk like a scientist." He pouted but gave in grudgingly. "Alright, fine, I'll sleep. I'd rather make out with you all night, but you're right; it's getting worse."

She bent down and kissed him chastely. "Yell if you need anything."

"Thanks, Betts. Sorry for cutting into your hours."

"Don't worry about it. I'll do another 20 minutes and go to bed." She flicked off his bedside light. "Good night." She closed the door behind her and leaned against it, trying to calm her flustered nerves. "Get a hold of yourself, girl," she muttered. "He's not going anywhere. Plenty more where that came from."

…

Jughead woke up to pale winter sunlight streaming in through the window and Betty sitting cross-legged on his bed, a breakfast tray next to her and an imposing-looking psychology textbook open on her lap. He watched her, smiling, as she pushed her glasses up her nose and frowned at the book in concentration. She was still in her pyjamas, her hair frizzy and tied up in a messy knot. "Morning," he rasped, forgetting to be careful and trying to sit up.

"Easy," she warned, putting her book down and reaching over to help him. "Good morning. Did you sleep alright?"

"Like the dead, surprisingly." He kissed her softly, lingering for a moment. "What brings you in here?"

"I figured you'd be in pain when you woke up, thought you'd need a hand sitting up." She grinned at him impishly. "But I knew you'd be too tough to call me."

He grimaced and rotated his shoulder experimentally. "Right on all counts, as usual."

She handed him some Advil and a glass of water from the tray. "What can I do?"

He looked at her pitifully. "Feed me."

"Would you like some cookies with that milk?" she teased.

"Hey now, I'm not milking it."

"Moo."

He grinned. "Maybe a little, but I do feel like I got into a barfight with a bulldozer."

"You look like it, too." She pointed to the breakfast tray where a bowl of fruit salad sat. "You can finish that while I make you something. What do you feel like?"

"Pancakes?"

"Chocolate chip or blueberry?"

"Chef's choice," he said. "I'll just brush my teeth."

She was giggling when she brought the plate of pancakes in. He looked at her suspiciously as he took the tray from her hands. "What did you do, Cooper?"

"See for yourself."

He looked down at the tray and laughed. The pancakes were a variety of shapes: a J, a teddy bear, a crown. One even had a smiley face cooked into it. "So I'm 6 now?"

"If the whining fits..."

He stuck out his tongue at her. "Thanks, Betts."

"I’m just bugging you. You're bearing your wounds very valiantly."

"Of course I am, cause I’m a bad ass. But I’m still calling in sick and staying in bed today."

Betty settled back onto a stack of pillows and picked up her book. "Me too," she said.

He ate his breakfast, watching her study, and was pretty sure that if he hadn't been in love with her already, he would have fallen for her right then.

She cleared her throat and looked up. "By the way," she said. "If we want to keep it clean in there, I think we should probably avoid the shower until we get around to..." she trailed off, looking for the right words.

"Taking the edge off? Yeah. Good idea."


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, ladies and gents! I'm so, so sorry for the wait. Those of you who read the comments will know that I'm out of town at the moment and I delayed posting this chapter (that I've been sitting on for two weeks) because it was supposed to be a cliff hanger and I didn't want to leave you dangling until I wrote the next one.  
> Anyway, long story short, I ditched said cliffhanger because it added unnecessary drama and I hope you can forgive me for the long break. In my defence, I've been without the internet for ten days.  
> Have I mentioned that I love you guys?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SMUT AHEAD. IF YOU DON'T LIKE IT YOU SHOULD PRETTY MUCH SKIP THE WHOLE FIRST HALF OF THIS CHAPTER.

The drumming of his fingers on the arm of the sofa was a sure sign that something was bothering him. He'd been at it for nearly an hour, staring into space; oblivious to Betty, breezing around the house getting ready to go out, or the loud rock she was singing along to, or even to the laptop resting on the coffee table with a half-finished essay glaring at him accusingly.

"Writer's block?" she finally asked, turning off the stereo and standing in front of him.

He shook his head and blinked at her. "Sorry, what? Did you say something?"

"I asked if you've got writer's block. You've been out of it for like an hour."

Sparing a glance at the laptop, as though he wasn't sure why it was still there, he shook his head. "No. It's Valentine's Day."

"Not until Tuesday."

"Which is four days away. Reggie's been making plans for almost a month."

Betty laughed and said, "That's because Cheryl will wear his balls as earrings if he doesn't measure up. They've been together for almost two years, and we've been together for two weeks. You're not worrying about it, are you?"

"A bit," he admitted. "You usually help me figure out what to do."

"I can still help," she said. "I assume it's me you're making plans with?"

"Actually, there's this girl that I've been running into at the coffee shop...of course it's you," he said, throwing a pillow at her. "And I know you hate Valentine's Day, but I wanted to do something."

She caught the pillow easily and fired it back at him. "You don't have to do anything, but there's always the usual things: flowers, chocolates, promises you don’t intend to keep."

"Is that a hint that you want a whole library in an enchanted castle?"

"I wouldn't say no."

'Talking clock, too?"

"Obviously."

He shook his head and glared at her. "You're no help at all, you know that, right?"

"Now that hurts, Juggie. I'm trying my best." She giggled at the exasperated look on his face. "Why don't we just order take-out and watch a movie?"

"Because we always do that. That's not special."

She raised her eyebrow at him. "Recreating your first date is always special."

"Jaws and pizza, Betts? Really?"

"It works for a reason, Juggie. Remember that time we sat in the bath with a bottle of wine that cost more than our rent and you said that the reason people fight when they try to be romantic is that they expect too much?"

"How could I forget?" he grinned. "That was the last time I had you naked in my arms."

"That didn't count," she said, blushing and biting her lip. "We were just friends then."

He reached out and hooked his fingers into her belt loops, pulling her forward to stand between his knees. "So we were," he said, sliding his hands under her unbuttoned flannel shirt. "But that doesn't mean I've forgotten what you feel like." He pressed a trail of kisses along the waistband of her jeans. "And you wouldn’t believe how much I think about it."

"Oh, I bet I would," she muttered. "That night in New York was the start of a very slippery slope."

"Why Betty Cooper," he grinned, drawing her down to straddle his lap. "Never say you've been fantasising about me?"

"Maybe a little," she said, pushing him against the back of the couch and settling herself against him. "It was easier than I thought it would be, and once I started...I don't know; I guess I’m curious."

"Then why have you been avoiding me?" He stroked her neck gently, pushing the shirt open and nibbling her collar bone. "You've barely let me kiss you since you patched up my shoulder last week."

She sighed softly and closed her eyes. "I haven't been avoiding you. You were injured." He toyed with her bra straps and lazily sucked a faint bruise into her shoulder, sending her pulse through the roof and making her dizzy with a sudden all-consuming lust. "I was exercising restraint."

"My shoulder is completely healed, Betts," he murmured, tugging the hem of the shirt until it slipped completely off to pool at her waist.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive." His fingers danced up her ribcage, teasing the sheer cups of her bra.

She leaned into his touch, moaning when his thumb finally brushed across her taut nipple. "Then kiss me."

It was like driving down the highway with the windows open, she thought. You couldn't breathe but you didn't want to because the wind in your face felt like flying. He tasted like everything she never knew she needed, like the finest wine and the darkest chocolate. His hands were everywhere, not just touching her but feeling her, memorising her, gripping her like he thought she'd float away.

She tugged his shirt over his head and pressed her palms against his chest, exploring the lines and dips of his muscles, savouring the feel of him under her hands. His bare skin on hers was nothing new, but the difference in her reaction from two weeks ago to this was astronomical. Before it had been calming, like animals cuddling together for security and comfort, but this. This was an ice storm in the middle of summer; shocking, unpredictable, unforgettable.

He shifted and pinned her to the couch, covering her with his body and she realised anew exactly how much bigger than her he was. She snaked her arms under his, clutching his shoulders as he peppered searing kisses down the column of her throat, down her chest, his tongue finally teasing the swell of her breast above the blue lace.

"Juggie..." she moaned breathlessly.

"Christ, Betts, I never thought I'd hear you say my name like that," he said, his voice thick and raspy against her chest.

"Like what?" she asked, raking her fingers through his hair and trying to pull him closer.

"Like you want me." He tugged the bra down and blew gently on her nipples, making her shiver. "Do you?"

"You know I do," she breathed, arching her back, silently begging him to touch her. When he swirled his tongue around the dusky peak and drew it into his mouth, she groaned low in her throat and wrapped her legs around him. "God yes, I want you."

She felt him smile as he caught her breasts in his hands, squeezing them, tasting her skin as he distractedly vibrated from one to the other, caressing, pinching, biting, soothing, driving her insane with want. "Juggie, please..."

"Please what?" he teased.

"Anything," she gasped, her hands frantically roaming his back, now dipping into the waistband of his jeans, now smoothing over the rigid muscles of his shoulders. "Just do something."

He shifted his weight to his knees and looked down at her. "Anything?" he asked with an arched eyebrow. "That's a fairly wide range. I could be into some pretty freaky shit."

"I doubt you could shock me," she challenged.

"Oh really," he sang. "Is that Betty or Tiffany talking?"

She laughed and dragged her nails down his chest, popping open the button on his jeans. "Tiffany learned everything she knows from Betty," she said, slipping her hand into his shorts and teasing him with her thumb. "There are some things about me that you don't know, Juggie."

He leaned down to bite her shoulder, his fingers splayed around the back of her neck, his thumb across her throat, pressing down. Her eyes widened in surprise and she smiled a slow, cat-like smile. "Or maybe you do."

"I suspect," he whispered sinfully in her ear, "that deep down, you and I have a lot in common."

"God, I hope so," she moaned, easing his jeans over his hips.

An alarm went off somewhere in the house and he dropped his head to the crook of her neck and swore. "Hold that thought." He kissed her and climbed off the sofa, searching for his phone. "I have to go to work, it's later than I thought."

Betty sat up abruptly and looked at the clock. "Shit! Cheryl's going to kill me. I'm supposed to be at the bar in 15 minutes."

"I'll give you a ride," he said, pulling her off the sofa and into his arms. "I'm sorry about this."

"It's okay, I know where you live." She winked and brushed his unruly hair off his face. "Isn't it a little early in the season for your bike?"

"The roads are clear, it'll just be a little cold." He slipped his hands into her back pockets and squeezed. "To be continued?"

"Yes, definitely," she said, letting her hands wander his back. "As soon as possible." She wrinkled her nose and laughed. "This should be so much weirder than it is."

"How so?"

She leaned back and gestured between them. "Shouldn't it be awkward? We've been naked together a thousand times without noticing, and now - I don't think I've ever been this turned on before. You'd think this transition would be more uncomfortable."

"I guess, when you stop to think about it." He rested his forehead on hers. "I'm glad it's not, though."

"Me too."

He kissed her, slowly, deeply, making a promise with the erotic flicks of his tongue, the controlled set of his jaw. "Tonight?"

"Yes," she whispered, dazed. "Tonight, tomorrow night, every night."

….

Sexual frustration did not make pouring drinks any easier. Friday nights were always a disaster at the campus bar, but this Friday in particular seemed to have been plucked from the depths of Hell purely to drive Jughead insane. Reggie, fortunately, had refrained from doing any decorating for Valentine's Day, but the closeness of the date alone was enough to almost double the usual patrons and he'd lost count of the number of giggling, pink-clad freshmen trying to seduce him into 'pretty please' sneaking a shot into their virgin drinks.

Betty herself was not helping. She'd emerged from her room looking like everything he'd been warned about in Sunday school, from her wild blonde curls to the highest, shiniest, black patent leather pumps he'd ever seen. He'd spent the entire three-minute drive from their apartment to the bar excruciatingly aware of her legs wrapped in skin-tight white denim pressed against his, and the black satin top she was wearing – more like a corset than actual outerwear, he thought – under his old leather jacket almost had him calling in sick and dragging her back to her room.

He could see her at the back of the bar with Cheryl, Veronica and a few of her other friends, crowded into a booth and watching the antics of the crowd, laughing their heads off. Every once in a while, one of them would look over at him and giggle, leaning in to whisper something to Betty who would blush and shake her head. What they wanted to know he could only guess, but she clearly wasn't telling.

"You look tense," Reggie teased. "Trouble in paradise?"

Jughead whacked him with the bar towel. "Only the fact that I’m here and not there. You're lucky you're my best friend, otherwise I would have called in sick tonight."

"The perks of nepotism. So things are good?"

"Things are great. Almost makes me wonder what I was so worried about." He picked up a glass and polished it thoughtfully. "Feels right, you know?"

Reggie nodded his response to a signal from Brenda and began mixing a fruity cocktail, complete with umbrella and extra sugar. "I do. That's how it was with Sherry."

Jughead laughed. "I don't think we're there yet, but who knows. Much stranger things have happened this week."

…

It was approximately the fifty-seventh time he'd looked at the clock when Betty's turn to buy a round came up. She strolled up to the bar, ignoring the catcalls and not-so-subtle innuendoes tossed at her from the men she passed.

"Hey handsome, come here often?" she asked, kneeling on a barstool and resting her elbows on the polished wood.

He rolled his eyes and leaned over the bar to peck her cheek. "Did you think of that all by yourself?"

"Naturally. I spend all my time coming up with cheesy pick-up lines."

"They're wasted on me, I am well and truly picked up. What can I get you?"

"A pint of Guinness, a gin martini – dry with a twist, and two Cosmos. And a blow job while I wait, please." She smiled and cupped her chin with her hands, fluttering her eyelashes at him.

Rubbing his forehead with the back of his hand, he nodded tersely and quickly assembled the shot. "With cream?"

"Isn't that the only way?"

"Are you actually trying to kill me?" he asked, watching her wrap her lips around the glass and tilt her head back, hollowing her cheeks and swallowing the messy drink in one go. "I've never seen anyone not make a complete idiot of themselves doing that shot, and here you are..."

Flicking her tongue out to lick the stray whipped cream off her lips, she leaned across the bar and whispered in his ear, "just keeping you on your toes. Let me know when you finish your shift." She blew him a kiss and slid off the bar stool. "Julie said she'd bring our drinks."

Jughead glanced at the clock again and shook his head. 45 minutes.

…

The elevator door opened on the third floor to Mrs Miller's shocked face. "Goodness, " she squeaked. "Oh, my. Well. I'll just catch the next one." She frantically stabbed the 'close doors' button and stared at the scene in front of her. "Well done, dear," she added to Betty with a sudden smile.

Betty, pressed against the wall with her legs around Jughead's waist and her hands in his hair, collapsed against him in a fit of hysterical giggles as the doors slid shut. "Cookies tomorrow, remind me."

He lifted his flaming face from her neck and nodded. "Cookies for Mrs Miller, and I'll just be moving to Timbuktu."

"Not without me, you're not. Come on, this is our floor." She wriggled out of his grip and dragged him down the hall, unlocking the door swiftly and shoving him into the house. "I hope you weren't planning on taking your time with this," she said, yanking his shirt over his head and dropping her jacket on the floor. "Because I've been trying not to jump you all night."

"Are you kidding?" he asked, kicking off his shoes and unbuttoning his jeans. "I'm not even sure we're going to make it to a bed."

"Thank God." Her top and jeans followed her jacket and she reached for him, drawing his face down to hers and kissing him, her tongue tangling wildly with his.

He groaned and picked her up, slamming her into the wall and holding her with his weight. "Okay?" he asked, pinning her arms above her head and feverishly kissing her neck.

"Yes," she gasped, locking her ankles behind his back. "Do not be gentle with me tonight."

"Tomorrow I'll make love to you," he promised, carrying her down the hall to his bedroom. "Tonight I'm going to fuck you senseless." He tossed her on the bed and crawled over her, tearing off her panties and hooking her leg around his waist, then paused. "Condom. Hold on a sec." He rolled off of her and reached for the bedside table.

She caught his hand and pulled him back. "I'm clean, Juggie. No need."

"I never doubted it for a second. So am I, but I'm not exactly ready for kids."

She looked at him blankly before comprehension dawned in her eyes. "Oh! God, I haven't thought about that in ages. I have an implant, we're good."

He kicked off his jeans and shorts and settled back against her. "This will be a first for me," he said.

"Me too. I don't...I don't usually allow this."

He stroked her jaw with his thumb and kissed her, reaching between them and sliding a finger inside of her. "Why me?"

She hissed and spread her legs wider. "Because it's you. We've never had anything between us. Fuck, that feels good," she said as he added another finger and twisted his hand, making her clench around him. "No more playing. I want you right now."

He knelt between her thighs, gripping her hips and dragging her up so her back was on the bed and her legs around his waist, teasing her entrance until she snapped and dug her nails into his wrist. "Please, please," she whispered desperately.

"Please what?" he asked, tweaking her nipple then leaning down to soothe it with his tongue.

"Oh, God," she moaned, her voice low and raw. "Please fuck me."

Her words sent a jolt through him and he slid into her with one powerful stroke, groaning at the iron grip of her muscles fluttering around him. "Christ, Betty..." he breathed.

Clutching his arms, she tried to move her hips, searching for friction. He held her firmly in place, thrusting up sharply at the perfect angle and making her back arch wildly.

"Fuck!" she cried. "God, do that again." He did, harder and faster, until she was a writhing, panting mess. "Juggie..."

"I want to hear you say it, Betts."

"Touch me," she gasped.

He pressed his thumb into her mouth. "Get it wet," he ordered.

She sucked it greedily, swirling her tongue around it, coating it with her saliva. "Please touch me."

Splaying his fingers against her stomach, he pushed his thumb between her legs, rubbing slow, light circles.

"Yes, yes, just like that..." Her pleas turned to whimpers as he drove harshly into her, taking her higher and higher with his hand until she unraveled completely, shaking and crying his name, shattering around him.

He gathered her up roughly, holding her to his chest and kissing her fiercely. "Fuck, Betty, you're incredible," he panted, slowing his movements.

"No, don't stop, don't stop," she begged, rolling her hips desperately.

"You're good?"

"God, yes. I want more," she moaned wantonly. "Fuck me harder."

She bit his ear harshly, drawing a filthy oath from him. He gripped the flesh of her ass, driving up into her, his tongue and teeth all over her breasts, her frantic pleas ringing in his ears. She clenched tightly around him, and clawed at his shoulders, pushing him to the edge.

"Christ, Betts, I-"

"Harder, Juggie," she whispered, clinging to him, "Lose control."

With a strangled groan, he shoved her onto the bed and forced her legs apart. He pounded into her relentlessly, sinking his teeth into her neck, fisting her hair painfully. She squeezed him as hard as she could, raising her hips to meet his. "Come on, baby," she moaned in his ear. "Cum for me."

He growled her name and exploded, his hips bucking erratically into hers, choking back a shout as he came harder than he ever had before, then collapsed on top of her, twitching from her aftershocks. She moved under him, sensually, subtly, stroking his back with her nails to prolong his high.

When the sensations became almost painful, he pulled out of her and rolled onto his back, spent. "Holy fuck," he panted.

"Yeah."

"You...that..." He gestured vaguely and dropped his hands. "Holy fuck."

She rolled over and snuggled into his side, pulling his arm around her. "I heard you were good, but that was...beyond."

He kissed her gently, his lips sliding softly against hers. "It's never been like that for me, Betts," he murmured. "That was all you."

She ran her fingers through his hair and tucked her head under his chin. "All us, I think," she mumbled, closing her eyes.

"Still perfect together," he said, kissing the top of her head and relaxing into the pillows. He listened to her breathing as she dropped off to sleep, nestled against him with a smile on her face. "Love you, Betts," he whispered.

…

Her light snoring filled the car and he briefly took his eyes off the road to look at her, unconscious with her head against the window. He reached over and brushed her hair off her face, smiling as she wrinkled her nose and twitched in her sleep.

She had fallen asleep just outside of Fairfield, but they were getting close to their destination. He pulled the car over and gently shook her awake.

Her eyes opened slowly, one at a time, and she looked around, confused. "Why are we stopped here?"

"Secret," he said, pulling a scarf out of the glove box and handing it to her. "Cover your eyes, please."

She patted her hair with a frown but tied the scarf around her head. "Can I go back to sleep?"

"No, we'll be there in five minutes." He pulled into a parking lot and turned off the car. "Ready?"

"I guess?"

He came around to the passenger side and helped her out of the car, hanging her purse over his arm. "Careful, there's a bit of snow." He led her through a parking lot and up a staircase. A door creaked open and she heard him talking in a low voice to a woman. They followed the click of her heels for several minutes and stopped in what felt like a large and airy room.

"Thanks, Chloe, I owe you one."

"Not at all, Forsythe. Have fun, but remember; there are still cameras." Her footsteps faded away, and Jughead took Betty's hands, pulling her a few steps forward.

"Juggie? What's going on?"

He loosened the scarf, keeping her eyes covered. "Do you remember when we watched The Purge, and I asked you what you'd do if there were no laws?"

"I said I'd climb the pyramids and break into the Egyptian Museum after hours."

"Both of those things are still illegal, but..." He let the scarf fall away and she was suddenly standing between two limestone columns, looking up at a soaring temple ceiling.

"Wow," she breathed. "Where are we?"

"The Egyptian Room at The Met," he said, grinning.

She looked around at the dim gallery. "Why is it so empty?"

"They closed at 5 30. We're the only ones here." He kissed her softly. "Happy Valentine's Day."

"What?" She stared at him in shock. "How?"

He put his arm around her waist and led her into the temple. "Remember when I interned here in freshman year, photographing part of the collection? I did a favour for the curator and she remembered. That was her that let us in."

"Must have been some favour..." Betty said, reaching out to glide her fingers over the rough wall.

"Not really, but we got along well and she was happy to help me out."

Betty turned and slipped her arms around his neck. "This is incredible," she said. "I can't believe you remembered all this time."

He held her close and brushed his lips lightly against hers. "We only have an hour, Betts," he whispered. "Chloe has a date tonight, too."

It would have been impossible to see everything in an hour, so they wandered around, hand in hand, Betty bouncing excitedly to pieces of particular importance, babbling enthusiastically about the significance, history or sheer beauty of every item.

When Chloe let them out at 8 o'clock, it was all Betty could do to keep from kissing the tiny woman. "Thank you so much, I can't even tell you how fantastic this was."

"My pleasure, dear," she said, shaking hands warmly. "Nice to see you again, Forsythe. Don't be a stranger."

Nodding goodnight, Chloe vanished into the museum and shut the door.

"You're amazing, Juggie. This is the most romantic thing anyone's ever done for me. Thank you."

"I'd do anything to make you happy, Betts," he said, looking down into her dancing eyes. "You know that."

"You do make me happy." She smiled and kissed him. "You always have, but this - I'm so glad we took this leap."

He grinned and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. "Me too. Come on, let's get some of those mutant New York hot dogs and head home. It's a long drive and you have an early class."

…

"Hello?"

"People fucking suck."

"Fine thanks, Betts, How are you?"

"I just told you, Jughead. People suck. My prof was twenty minutes late this morning because God forbid I pay a thousand dollars for a six-week seminar and actually get the promised time. Oh no, Doctor-Professor I'm-living-proof-that-tenure-should-be-abolished had to stop and get coffee on his way to class, which led all the tools that are apparently not selling sex for tuition to go absolutely apeshit and turn the lecture hall into a rave. By the time the pompous jackass showed up and got them to sit down and be quiet, the class was over."

Jughead checked the date on his phone and mentally counted backward. "Do you need me to pick anything up on my way home, Betty?"

He heard her sigh. "Is it that obvious?"

"I'm sorry, I value my life too much to answer that question."

She exhaled through her nose in what might have been an attempt at a laugh. "Ice cream, please. And chocolate. And a bottle of wine. Thanks."

"That bad, huh?"

"Yup. Do you have any idea how lucky you are that you're a guy?"

He chuckled and turned towards the nearest grocery store. "You've been reminding me once a month for the past three years. If it hadn't sunk in by now, I would definitely not be worthy of the offer of admission for grad school that I just received."

"You got it?" she squealed. "Oh my God, that's awesome!"

Try as he might, he couldn't keep back his grin. "Plus funding. I'm so stoked, Betts."

"Funding too? No one gets funding for that program! See? I told you you're a genius."

"Flattery will get you two pints of ice cream. I'll be home in about half an hour. Will you survive?"

"I'll do my best. Thanks, Juggie."

She was waiting at the door when he came in, and she pounced on him, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him soundly. "You're amazing, I’m so proud of you. I looked up the registration stats and less than five percent of applicants get into your program. This is the best day ever!"

"Better than when you got your admission?"

"So much better. You'd have to be a complete idiot not to get into my program," she said, completely forgetting that she'd declared the exact opposite only 8 weeks previously. "You worked so hard, and no one deserves this more."

"Thanks, Betts," he smiled, looking at her happy, excited face. "You're really something, you know that?"

She dragged him into the living room. "This isn't about me. Sit. Tell me everything." She patted the sofa and waited.

"Ice cream?"

"Yes, definitely. I'll even share. Just this once."


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can tell I'm a hormonal mess this week...so much sap! I almost feel bad about it. Enjoy :)

"We knew it was going to be like this, Jughead! Four days ago, you were so excited you couldn't stop smiling. Now you're telling me you want to turn them down?"

"It's a two-hour drive, Betty! The program is 40 hours a week and I'm still going to have to work. When the hell am I going to see you?"

Betty slammed her hand on the kitchen island in frustration. "You're not giving up this chance for me! We'll make it work. I'll come to you."

"We've been together for six weeks, Betty, and you're ready to try long-distance?"

"We've been together for sixteen fucking years, Jughead," she seethed. "We were friends first and that's why this has been going so well. Look at what we started with; how the hell is a hundred-mile commute going to break that down?"

"When did I say that it would?" he yelled. "I don't want to be away from you. Is that so hard to understand?"

"I don't want to be away from you, either, you stubborn jackass! But if you think I'm going to sit here and let you walk away from this offer, you've got another think coming. You've worked way too hard and sacrificed way too much to throw it away for some fucking girl!"

He rounded on her with a pained expression. "Is that what you think you are? Just some fucking girl? Jesus Christ, Betts. You're it. You're THE girl."

"You can't know that already."

"I can and I do," he said flatly.

Betty threw up her hands and shoved her chair back from the island. "Then the distance shouldn't matter! I'm in this for the long haul, too and I will move Hell and Earth to make it work." She sighed and rubbed her hands over her face. "I can't argue about this anymore. I’m going to the gym."

Jughead caught her arm as she passed him. "Betty, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell at you," he said softly.

"It doesn't matter, Juggie, sometimes a good screaming match is necessary. We need to think of some actual solutions to this problem, so let's just cool down and talk later." She kissed his cheek and went to her room, closing the door with a vicious click. 

He stayed in the kitchen, absently tapping the tip of a fork against the counter, brow furrowed in concentration and annoyance. He'd worked his ass off to get through his undergrad, and would graduate summa cum laude with acceptance to one of the most prestigious writing post-grad programs in the country. He and Betty had both known that, if he were to be accepted, he'd have to move and their little bubble would burst. It hadn't been an issue when he'd applied – it had been unfortunate but the overall stakes were not that high. 

Now he couldn't fathom packing up and leaving her. Their relationship had been going uncannily well; their friendship had survived, the sex was mind-blowing, and they'd even graduated to the point where rough days could end in the bath without it descending into depravity. It was an easy dynamic and the thought of up-ending their life again, tempting fate for the second time in as many months, was unconscionable. 

Betty's door opened and she emerged, dressed for the gym. She brushed her fingers over his back and squeezed his shoulder on her way past, not speaking. He nodded at her with a tight smile and she returned it, her eyes soft. They'd figure it out. 

…

Betty let herself into the gym and flicked on the stereo distractedly, cranking the volume on some loud, angry rock. Wrapping her hands carefully, she took a couple of half-hearted swings at the punching bag, mentally wrestling with the problem she and Jughead had been trying to sort out since he'd received his acceptance letter. 

They’d never been apart for more than a week since moving in together, and now they’d been accepted to graduate schools in different states. It had always been the plan, but their new relationship had thrown a wrench in the works. Even though crunch time was still almost six months off, a decision had to be made much more quickly than that. 

Their first reaction to the news had been excitement because Jughead had been working towards this goal since starting school. He’d backpedalled in the last day or two, though, finally stating that he was going to turn down the offer and apply to a local school for the following year. Betty, ever sensible and practical, had put her foot down and refused to let him pull a Felicity on her. 

She punched the bag angrily. It was only two years out of the rest of their lives. They had plenty of time to be together, but they had to start out on the right foot. No stupid decisions, no misguided attempts at sacrifice for the greater good.

The rest of their lives. Betty caught the bag mid swing and stopped it. Her earlier words flew back to her. “I’m in this for the long haul, too.” What the hell had she meant by that? She had told Veronica that Jughead had always been there when she pictured her future; was she still talking about the same thing? She sat down cross-legged on the mats and rested her chin on her hands. 

It had been in the back of her mind for a few weeks that she was falling for him, but she was in a state of perpetual confusion. They’d always loved each other so much, and their relationship had always been so intimate, that she wasn’t always sure which side of the friend vs lover line they were walking on now that they had crossed it. 

There was a huge difference between this relationship and any of her previous ones, which had been nice but lacking the unconditional trust that existed between her and Jughead. She always knew exactly where she stood with him, didn’t feel any pressure to be anything but herself. Being with him required no extra effort, none of the special gestures that usually seemed to go with dating. He’d always gone the extra mile for her and she for him. 

Her heart clenched when she realized how unique and lucky they were, to have gone through life together, knowing that they had each other. How many people could say that? They’d always known that what they had was special, but now she saw that it was extraordinary. A friendship so deep that you couldn’t tell where it ended and love began was one-in-a-million.

She’d always relied on him to be her rock, had always enjoyed his company. Now, though, she looked forward to seeing him in a way she hadn’t noticed before, felt a flutter of happiness when he came home and went straight to her instead of putting his things away or searching out food. 

He hadn’t told her he loved her since the night she’d called him from New York, but she knew. She could see it in his eyes when he looked at her, she could feel it when he touched her. The first time they’d had sex had been raw and primal, but the second time had been anything but. 

Butterflies erupted in her stomach as she thought of it; him lying on the bed looking up at her through lust-blackened eyes, her fingers entwined with his as she leaned on his hands for balance, their bodies so close together that movement was almost impossible and completely unnecessary. The only sounds were the faintest sighs until they’d fallen over the edge together, each other’s names tumbling from their lips into open mouths pressed together even when kisses were forgotten. Afterwards, he’d held her as she drew great, shuddering breaths, almost sobbing from the overwhelming intensity of it all. 

Standing up quickly, she narrowly missed whacking her head on the seventy-pound bag of sand. What an idiot she’d been. She hurried out of the gym and up the stairs, not bothering to wait for the elevator. Flying through the front door, she found Jughead still sitting in the kitchen, staring morosely at a fork he was twirling in his hands. He stood up in surprise when she burst in. 

“Betts, are you okay?”

She caught his face in her hands and pulled him down, pressing fast, frenzied kisses to his lips. “I love you,” she whispered. “I love you so much.”

…

“We still have to figure this out,” Jughead said, lightly stroking her arm and trying to catch his breath. 

Betty stretched and hummed, arching into him with a smile. “I know. Later.” Rolling over to straddle his waist, she kissed him lazily and sat up, resting her hands on his chest. “Tell me again.”

“I love you, Betty,” he said, pushing himself up and running his hands down her bare back. He stared at her with wonder in his eyes. “God, you’re beautiful. I must have been fucking blind not to see you before.” 

“You always saw me,” she answered, curling her fingers around his neck. “Even before all this, you made me feel beautiful.”

He pressed his lips to her throat and closed his eyes, dotting imperceptible kisses on her skin. “Do you think it was always there and we just didn’t notice?”

“No. I think we had something really special, and part of me will miss it.”

“Me too, honestly. It’s worth it though, for this.”

She chuckled. “When did we get so sappy?”

“Who are you kidding, Betts? We’ve always been sappy.”

“That’s true.” She wriggled closer to him and rested her chin on his shoulder. “Can we do this forever?”

“I hope so.”

“Not today, though,” she sighed. “We have to go to Ronnie’s party.”

He groaned and flopped back on the bed, pulling her down with him. “Do we really have to?” he whined. 

Laughing, she rolled off of him, dragging the sheets with her. “Yes, we do.”

“Hey!” he yelped, curling up in a ball. “It’s cold!”

“Can’t be that cold,” she teased, eyeing him significantly. “If I’d known what you’d been packing all this time, I would have had you years ago.”

“That’s gratifying to know,” he said drily. “As long as we’re on the topic of completely inappropriate compliments, can I just say that you have the prettiest p-“

“Jughead Jones!” she shrieked, clapping her hand over his mouth. “Don’t make it weird or I’ll never let you leave the lights on again.”

He yanked her onto the bed and swiftly rolled on top of her. “That would be a shame,” he murmured, pinning her arms over her head and sliding his lips down her neck. “Because watching you fall apart is sexier than anything I could imagine in my wildest dreams.” He licked up her throat and kissed along her jaw to her ear. “I could get off just watching you.”

She moaned and slowly dragged her foot up his leg. “One day we will explore that, but right now we really need to go.”

“Christ, Betts, you can’t just say things like that,” he groaned. “Now I’m going to be thinking about it all night.”

“I’ll make it up to you later,” she promised, pushing him away and standing up. “Can you make some coffee? I need a shower before I go anywhere.” Pressing a lingering kiss to his cheek, she turned and left the room. She didn’t look back, but waved her hand mockingly as she entered the bathroom, knowing he was still staring after her.

…

“Oh my God, why are you guys so late?” Veronica asked, pouncing on Betty as soon as she and Jughead entered the penthouse Ron and Archie shared.

“Twenty minutes, V? How is that ‘so late’?”

Veronica took her and Jughead’s coats and handed them to a passing member of the wait staff. “What happened to ‘If you’re not ten minutes early, you’re late’, Elizabeth?”

“Sorry, Ronnie. My fault,” Jughead said, handing her a huge bouquet of yellow roses. 

“Oh really?” Veronica purred with a delighted smile. “What did you do?”

He wiggled his eyebrows and grinned. “Where’s Archie? I’m sure you girls have lots to talk about.”

“Keeping the food company, no doubt,” she answered. “Off you go, then. Thanks for the flowers.”

“My pleasure,” he said, kissing her hand. “Happy Birthday.” Dropping a kiss on Betty’s cheek, he wandered off in the direction of the buffet table. 

“Spill, B. It’s written all over your glowing face; either you’re in love or you’re getting seriously laid. Which is it?”

Betty smiled austerely. 

“Both?” Veronica whispered, clutching Betty’s arm. 

“Both.”

“Oh my God!” Veronica shrieked, throwing her arms around Betty and jumping up and down. “You’re in love?” she demanded, oblivious to the stares of her guests. 

“Head over heels,” Betty sighed happily. “And honestly, V, I don’t think I could have got here without you.”

Veronica preened. “Preach girl! Now, tell me everything. When did this happen? It’s only been like six weeks since you were crying your eyes out in New York.”

“What did your dad say about that hotel bill, by the way?”

“Oh, I gave him the bit about standing in the way of true love, he quoted The Princess Bride and we had a good laugh. He adores you, you know.”

“And?” Betty asked sceptically.

“And I threatened to take a bus to Vegas with Archie and get married by an Elvis impersonator if he didn’t unlock my cards.”

Betty laughed until tears ran down her cheeks. “Poor Hiram. That was below the belt, even for you.”

“I was serious about The Princess Bride, though. He really is happy for you guys.”

“I’ll pay you back, V.”

“You will not. I was happy to do it and he’s already forgotten. Mother had a moment in Tiffany’s the other day, and that bill will keep him off my back for at least six months.”

“What would I do without your family to make mine look normal?” Betty laughed. 

“Always glad to be of service. Now, spill! I’m on pins here!”

Betty snagged two glasses of champagne off of a passing tray and handed one to Veronica. “I just realized it today. We were arguing about grad school and I said something about being in it for the long haul, and I guess it just hit me. It’s like as soon as I forced myself to think about him differently, it all came flooding in. Love, sex, forever.” She shook her head, still coming to terms with it all. “I think he’s the one.”

“Well of course he is. Who the hell could ever measure up after this?” Veronica asked impatiently. “I knew it all along; once you two got going there is no force on Earth that could stop you. So…you mentioned sex? How is it? Is he amazing? I bet he’s amazing.”

“Best sex I’ve ever had, and then some. I didn’t know it could be like this.”

“Swoon. The difference love makes?”

“Trust, I think,” Betty said. “I’ve never been as comfortable with anyone as I am with him.”

Veronica clasped her hands dramatically and sighed. “I’m so happy for you. What were you saying about grad school, though?”

“He doesn’t want to go. He wants to stay here and take a year off, try to get into a school near here for next year.”

“And you told him to get his head out of his ass?”

“Not in so many words. I can’t let him turn down this chance for me, though. We’ll figure something out.” Someone grabbed Betty’s waist and she squealed and jumped. “Reggie! One of these days you’re going to tickle me and I’m going to elbow you in the face.”

He laughed at her and pulled her into a crushing hug. “It’s a chance I’ll take. You look good, Beebee. My boy treating you right?”

“You know it,” she grinned. “Where’s Cheryl?”

“She’ll be here later,” he said, glowering. “Penelope dragged her to another wedding meeting. I tell you what, man, the colour scheme was already red, but Sherry’s going to start taking it literally if her mother doesn’t back off. I predict murder and mayhem.”

“Don’t worry, Reg, we’ll keep them apart on the day. You just get her through the rehearsal in one piece and we’ll do the rest.”

Jughead tapped Veronica on the shoulder. “Sorry, Birthday Girl, your man needs you. Some disaster with the caterers.”

Veronica sighed and nodded. “Excuse me, guys. Duty calls.” She clicked away to rescue Archie. 

“How’s it going, man?” Reggie asked Jughead, who had slipped his arm loosely around Betty’s shoulders. “As if I have to ask.”

“Can’t complain,” Jughead nodded. “You? I haven’t seen you at work in weeks.”

“Busy. Two months until the wedding, then I get my MBA. Sherry and I are thinking about buying the bar.”

“That’s awesome, Reggie!” Betty exclaimed. “You’ve been running it long enough.”

“Who would have thought? Mantle the Magnificent, a respectable married man with a degree or two and a business,” Jughead teased. 

Reggie laughed in embarrassment. “Come on, man, not cool. Don’t throw the sins of my youth at me.”

“You weren’t that bad, Reg.” Betty said, with an admonishing glance at Jughead. “Just a bit cocky.”

“Thanks, Beebee. I’m gonna go find Moose, relive the glory days a bit.” He clapped Jughead on the back and squeezed Betty’s hand. “Later, guys. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“I wonder if that includes finding Archie to say hello,” Betty sighed. “I should.”

Jughead moved to stand behind her, wrapping his arm around her waist. “Given how friendly you are with one ex, it’s almost amusing how much you despise another one.”

“I don’t despise him, he’s still one of my oldest friends. He just bugs me sometimes. He’s like a golden retriever that acts all wounded when you scold him, except the dog knows what it did wrong and he doesn’t.” Betty sighed and leaned back against Jughead’s chest, lightly scratching his arm through his shirtsleeves.

“Are you still upset with him for dumping you?”

“Hell no; he did me a favour. You know, I’ve had three serious boyfriends and they all dumped me, not the other way around.” She turned her head to look at him. “Do you ever feel guilty about us?” she asked suddenly.

A look of confusion crossed his face. “What do you mean?”

“Reggie flat out told me he was ending it because I always picked you over him. I assume Archie felt the same way, and Adam was definitely jealous of you. Maybe we were unfair to the people we’ve dated. It must have looked really bad.”

“We never did anything wrong, Betts. Everyone knew what we were to each other.”

“Still. Looking back, I feel badly about it. It wasn’t really fair to any of those guys to let them compete with you.”

“Maybe not, but we didn’t mean to hurt anyone.” His arms tightened around her and he pressed a kiss to her temple. “Do you wish it had been different? You could have ended up with Reggie or Adam instead of me.”

“No,” she whispered. “None of them ever made me feel the way you do.” She turned in his arms and touched his face softly. “I was so scared when you told me you loved me. I thought there was no way this could compare to our friendship, but I was wrong. It’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

He hooked his finger under her chin and kissed her so gently that she felt it in her heart before it registered on her lips. “I promise that you will never regret taking this leap with me, Betty Cooper.”

“I know I won’t,” she smiled, resting her forehead on the bridge of his nose and looking through her lashes at him. “I love you, Juggie.”

“I love you, too.”

“Oh, the honeymoon phase! So cute, I’m almost jealous.” Cheryl’s melodic voice crashed through their moment like a freight train and they jumped apart. “Hello, baby sister,” she said, pressing her cheek against Betty’s. “Almost brother,” she added to Jughead with a wink and a smirk. 

“Hello Cheryl,” Betty sighed. “How was the meeting?”

Cheryl gave a very uncharacteristic snort and tossed her head. “You know mothers. I highly advise you to elope when your turn comes; it saves so much swearing.”

Jughead choked and turned beet red. Betty and Cheryl turned to him in surprise. “It’s an expression, Jughead, relax,” Cheryl said, rolling her eyes. “Betty, dearest,” she added, “could I have a word with your handsome fellow?” 

Betty raised her eyebrow at Jughead who nodded. “Sure, I’ll just go say hi to Archie. I guess greeting the host is part of a guest’s duties.” She started to walk away then turned back. “Keep your hands where I can see them, Blossom.” She stuck out her tongue at her sister-in-law and laughed to herself as she went off in search of Archie and Veronica.

“Dare I ask what I’ve done to deserve a private audience with Riverdale royalty?” Jughead asked, teasing Cheryl, but with honest affection on his face.

“I haven’t seen you since That Day. I wanted to see how it’s going.”

“Couldn’t be better. I don’t think I’ve ever really thanked you for what you did, Cher. If you hadn’t cooked up that ridiculous plan, I’d probably still be sleeping on your couch, afraid to go home.”

She wrinkled her nose in distaste. “I would have thrown you out weeks ago, don’t worry.”

“I mean it,” he said earnestly, taking her hands. “Thank you, Cheryl, from the bottom of my heart. For taking care of Betty, and of me. I always suspected that there was a real heart under that Ice Queen exterior.” 

“You’re welcome,” she said, standing on her toes and kissing his forehead like she would her four-year-old niece. “I’m really happy for you guys, but remember this; Thornhill has ten acres, a fifteen-foot fence and a private graveyard. If you hurt Betty, you will answer to me. Capisce?”

“Noted.”

“And Jug?” Cheryl added, stepping back and shouldering her purse.

“Hm?”

“Welcome to the family.”

…

“So, you and Jughead,” Archie said, rocking on his heels and staring at his glass. 

“Yup,” Betty answered, surveying Veronica’s massive living room. 

He sipped his drink and watched her out of the corner of his eye. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“Talking to your mom,” he said in a small voice. “Ronnie told me what she said.”

Betty sighed. “You meant well, Arch. If my mom was like yours, it would have been different.”

“But she’s not, and I knew that. I didn’t think. Forgive me?”

She smiled. “A thousand times, if necessary.”

“Let’s hope not,” he grimaced. “Are you happy?” he asked after a beat.

“With Jughead? Yeah, I am.”

“I thought so. Once you moved in together, I figured it was only a matter of time.”

Turning to look at him, Betty rested her hand on his arm. “Archie, did I make you feel like you came second to Jughead? When we were together?”

“No, not really. We were just kids, Liz. I knew he was your best friend but you were my girlfriend and that was enough for me then. I thought boyfriend trumped everything, so it never occurred to me to mind. You know?”

“And now, looking back? Did I treat you badly?”

“Never. You were the perfect first girlfriend. If anything, I treated you badly.”

She laughed. “Yeah, a bit at the end, but you could have done a lot worse. At least you were honest, and that counts for a lot.”

“Still friends?” he asked hopefully.

“Still friends.” Betty hugged him tightly and wiped a tear from her eye. “I’m glad we’re both happy now.”

Archie grabbed a napkin and handed it to her. “For the love of God, don’t let Jughead see that. He’ll kick my ass into next week if he thinks I made you cry.”

She took the napkin and dabbed her face. “Makeup still good?” she asked. 

“You’re good. I heard Jughead got into Elmhurst. Are you going with him?”

“What?” she asked, staring at him.

“I just thought you’d grab the chance to live in New York for a bit. You always talked about the internships you could do there.”

“Fuck me,” she whispered. 

Archie backed away. “Whoa, Liz. I know that’s not what you meant but seriously. Your boyfriend learned how to fight in a biker bar and I’d rather he didn’t hear you say shit like that to me.”

She rolled her eyes. “I learned to fight there, too, Archie. Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.”

“That’s terrifying. Anyway, why are you swearing at me like I just solved the riddle of the pyramids?”

“Because I think you did. You’re a genius Arch.” She pecked his cheek and took off, shouting “Thanks!” over her shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reggie was supposed to bring the moment of clarity at the end, but I kind of felt bad for writing Archie out, so here he is in a brief, shining moment.  
> (Name that movie reference lol. Am I dating myself here?)


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apparently, I cheated you out of smut in the last chapter; hope this makes it up to you. ;) :P
> 
> This chapter contains about 3 word-doc pages of smut, so heads up if you aren't into that. It's pretty obvious where it's going to start so you can easily skip it without missing any important dialogue. Also, there's a spoiler for COD Modern Warfare 3, if you play video games.
> 
> Without giving too much away, we're going to delve into very very mild kink exploration. If that bothers you, or you have any triggers for sexual assault, you should read the notes at the bottom before diving into this chapter. Everything that occurs is safe and completely consensual and it is absolutely not a rape fantasy, but I'm told that the imagery might be a trigger for some people.

"Well, you didn't exactly give me a chance to come up with a plan B, Juggie. Up until today, we were sticking with plan A."

Jughead sat on the edge of Veronica's claw-foot tub watching Betty pace, vibrating with excitement. He could practically hear the wheels turning in her head. "It never occurred to you before today that you wanted to come with me?"

"Of course, it occurred to me; I told you that I don't want to be away from you. I just think we have to be smart about this, and throwing away our academic futures is definitely not smart."

He nodded, waiting for the penny to drop. It didn't. "Okay, I'll bite. Why is it okay for you to throw away your academic future for me, but not the other way around?"

"Elmhurst isn't going to offer you funding twice, Juggie. I can do my program at any grad school, anytime. But it boils down to something much more important. Experience."

"In?" he asked, making a slow, sweeping gesture with his hand. "Fill me in, Betts. Clearly, you're percolating on some kind of master plan."

She leaned against the bathroom door and held her hands up in a square frame. "Picture this: I'm in an interview at the FBI or some city police department, and the interviewer says 'Miss Cooper, can you tell us about some of the skills you've learned in previous jobs?' And I say 'Certainly, Sir. I can deep throat a beer bottle to simulate the sounds of fellatio, and say the C word without blushing.' How do you think that's going to go down?"

"Pretty well by the sounds of it," he grinned. "You can deep throat a beer bottle?"

"Focus, Juggie," she snapped. "The point is, I don't have any work experience that I can put on my resume. So, I'll defer my acceptance and try for an internship somewhere. Or, just get a real job and do some volunteering. They look at all that, you know. It's not just education."

"I don't have any work experience, either, unless you count bartending and dodging cougars."

"But you do have a writing portfolio, and with a degree from Elmhurst you could get a job at any paper or publishing house in the country. I was always going to have to beef up my resume, and I might as well do it now instead of after I graduate."

"So, let me get this straight. In the half hour since Cheryl banished you from her kingdom to threaten me with an untimely death and a forever home in the Thornhill graveyard, you've solved the problem of what to do about us, fixed the plot holes in your academic plan, and had a heart-to-heart with Archie?"

"Yes."

"That is some serious problem-solving skill. You should put that on your resume."

…

"I'm going to miss you, man. How am I supposed to run the place without you as my head bartender?" Reggie snagged a piece of Veronica's enormous birthday cake and peeled off the fondant layer, eyeing it with suspicion.

"That's edible, you know," Jughead pointed out with a grin.

"Just because something's edible doesn't mean you should eat it," Reggie groused. "I watch Cake Boss. I know what they do to that shit before they put it on the cake."

Jughead choked on his beer and spluttered, pressing his hand to his mouth. "Damn, Reggie," he laughed. "If your sixteen-year-old self could see you now. I guess that means no fondant on your wedding cake?"

"It's really cute how you think I have a say in the wedding cake, man," he said, rolling his eyes. "Just you wait. One of these days, Alice Cooper is going to show up at your house with a big fucking binder full of bridal magazines and Pinterest print outs and the next thing you know, you'll know the difference between cerise and crimson and have to pretend like you care."

"Betty wouldn't put up with that, no way. Last time Alice showed up at our house, Betty told her she was a shitty mother, and then made a crack about her healthy appreciation for my naked body."

Reggie let out a low whistle. "Before or after you started dating?"

"Before. She was just trying to piss Alice off, and it worked."

"Speaking of sixteen-year-old selves, hey? I think Betty's changed more than any of us. Best thing she ever did was stop doing what her mother told her." Reggie washed down the sickly-sweet cake with a mouthful of coffee. "She should tell Alice about Tiffany," he laughed. "That would get her out of your life for good."

Jughead imagined the potential for that conversation and laughed, shaking his head. "Oh, I would pay to see that. I'm surprised she doesn't know, though. It's not like it's a secret."

"Does Polly know?"

"Yeah. When you try to keep something like that hidden, it turns into blackmail material. If Betty wants to work for the FBI, she can't have any skeletons in her closet."

"Agent Cooper," Reggie mused. "Do profilers get guns?"

"Gross. Dude, don't go there. I'm sure Cheryl owns a gun or ten."

"She's a good shot, too," Reggie confirmed.

"Shocker."

…

"Do profilers get guns?" Jughead asked Betty while they were walking home.

"What?" she laughed. "Where did that come from?"

"Something Reggie mentioned," he said vaguely.

Betty nodded sagely. "Say no more. Yes, profilers get guns; they mostly start out as cops or regular agents so it's part of the job."

"Handcuffs, too?" he asked, wiggling his eyebrows at her.

"I already have handcuffs, Juggie."

"Really?"

"It's kind of a rite of passage for Crim majors to buy them at some point during our Intro to Policing course."

He stopped and stared at her. "Why am I just finding this out now?" he gasped in mock outrage.

"You never asked," she shrugged. "Why, you want to play with them?"

Jughead stepped on to the busy street and put his fingers in his mouth, whistling shrilly. "Get in," he said as a taxi pulled up. "We have to go home. Right now."

…

"Damnit, Jug," she panted, "Stop screwing around and fucking kiss me."

A trail of clothing littered the path from the front door to Betty's room; her coat, sweater and skirt; Jughead's jacket, shoes and dress shirt. Her wrists were cuffed to the back of the vanity chair, her legs held apart by Jughead kneeling between them, her hips held down by his hands.

He ignored her, continuing to skate his mouth over her chest and neck, little puffs of warm breath leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake. His bottom lip occasionally dragged across her skin, his tongue flicked out here and there, never quite making contact. Her fingers clenched around the cold steel of the handcuffs, secured loosely enough that she could grip the bands, but not so loosely that she could slip out of them.

He'd barely touched her and she was on fire. The need to touch him, to feel him come alive under her hands, was overwhelming but it was nothing in comparison to the need to have him touch her. "Juggie, please," she begged. "At least take off your shirt so I can see you."

He stopped and looked up at her, amusement evident in his eyes. "Easy there, Cooper. Someone might think you want me."

"I do want you, you fucking ass," she groaned. "Now take off your damn shirt."

"You know," he said, sitting back on his heels, "you seem to think you have a lot of power for someone chained to a chair."

Her eyes glittered malevolently. "You're going to have to let me go eventually, and I will remember this."

"Shut up," he laughed affectionately. "You know you love it."

"I really do," she sighed. "Seriously, though. Please?"

He stood up so his waist was level with her eyes and pulled the undershirt over his head, tossing it carelessly aside. "Happy?"

"It's an improvement," she conceded. "Fuck, you're hot," she added in a tone of exasperation.

He deliberately unbuckled his belt, sliding it through the loops with a crack. His black jeans dropped several inches, resting low on his hips.

"This is just unfair," she muttered, staring at his deep v-cut and the dark trail of hair disappearing into his waistband.

Falling to his knees in front of her once more, he slid his hands teasingly up her thighs. "Your legs are incredible," he murmured, leaning forward and kissing her stomach, just below her breasts. "Close your eyes," he added, catching at her bra and pulling it down.

She obeyed, her head falling back when he bit her nipple lightly. "God, Jug..." He did it again, harder, then flattened his tongue and raked it over her darkening skin. Betty whimpered, unconsciously arching her back.

"Do you like that, Betty?" he asked quietly, dragging his nails up her sides and unhooking her bra.

"Yes," she breathed.

He pushed the bra up and flipped it over her head, letting it fall down her arms to rest at her cuffed wrists. "So fucking beautiful," he said, almost to himself, slowly circling her breast with his tongue, his fingers digging into her ribs. Her quiet moans echoed in the still room until he sucked her nipple into his mouth and bit down, his tongue flying over her. "Jesus Christ, Jug!" His hand came up to knead her other breast, flicking his thumb across it until she writhed in her chair, sliding down the seat with her legs spread obscenely wide.

"Tell me what you want, Betts." He moved his mouth slowly up her chest, pausing to lap at the hollow of her throat, up her neck, teasing her earlobe with his tongue, feathering kisses down her jaw, finally claiming her trembling lips in a bruising kiss. She whimpered loudly, struggling against the handcuffs, trying to press her chest to his. "God, Juggie," she gasped, wrenching away from him. "Fuck, I'm so wet. I need you."

There was nothing in the world, he thought as he licked his way down her body, quite like Betty Cooper putting her pleasure in his hands. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his knife, flicking it open with one hand.

Betty flinched at the telltale swish of the steel. "What was that?" she whispered.

"What do you think it is?" he asked, pressing the back of the blade into her thigh.

She shivered imperceptibly and smiled, remembering a certain midnight fantasy confession. "It's not safe to tell you anything, is it?"

"Nope. You still interested?"

"Yes," she said quietly.

He slid the dull edge up her leg and under her panties. "Ok?"

She nodded, and he flicked his wrist, shredding the flimsy lace. "Oh my God," she whispered, the muscles in her stomach quivering. "Again."

He stared up at her face, her eyes still closed, perfect mouth open, bottom lip trapped between her teeth. No one would know how she liked to flirt with danger, but somehow, he had guessed, and he was right there with her. His finger firmly over the sharp edge, he dragged the blade across her thighs then cut the rest of the lace from her body. Before she had time to react, he pressed his mouth between her legs and latched onto her center.

A silent scream escaped her lips and her body jerked violently. "Holy fuck," she gasped as his tongue ravaged her, massaging, teasing, tasting, tormenting. "Oh my God, yes, oh my God." She gripped the back of the seat and jolted off the chair, one leg coming over his shoulder, the lethal-looking heel of her shoe digging into his back.

He wished he could see her; her body curved in a perfect arc from her left foot on the ground to her head thrown back in ecstasy, her hair falling in wild curls towards her hands, every muscle engaged as she rocked against his mouth, begging and cursing incoherently. He was merciless, driving her closer and closer to the edge until she finally managed to cry out for him to stop.

He instantly pulled away from her, catching her hips as she collapsed. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," she panted, sinking onto the chair. "But if you do that much longer, I’m going to be done and asleep before you can say 'blue balls'. Unlock me."

Reaching onto her desk for the key, he moved behind her and quickly unlocked the cuffs, kicking them away to rest by his knife. She rotated her wrists and slowly brought her arms around her body.

"You okay?" he asked, rubbing her shoulders.

"I'm fine. Don't go all soft on me now, Jones. You wanted to be in charge."

He wondered if she'd taken out life insurance on him; that was the only explanation for that tone of voice. His jeans were suddenly so painfully tight that he had to unzip them.

Betty heard the zipper fall and grinned. "And what are you going to do with it now that it's free?" she mocked.

"Stand up," he growled in her ear, sliding his hands up her neck and wrapping his fingers around her throat. She moaned and rose to her feet, barely managing to keep her knees steady. "Bend over the desk."

She made a show of straightening her legs and leaning down, her high heels making her back arch over the wooden table. "Anything else?" she purred, spreading her arms across the desk and gripping the edges, her chest flat against the surface.

He shoved his jeans down with one hand and pulled himself free of his shorts. Squeezing her throat lightly, he pressed his lips to her jaw and whispered, "Just hold on."

She shivered at his words and inched her legs apart, inviting him in. He thrust into her without preamble, her skin burning where he gripped her. She knew she wouldn't orgasm, but the sheer lewdness of him driving into her body, unseen, one hand leaning on her back, the other teasing her throat – never choking but always threatening - was more than worth it. She didn’t recognize her own voice, hoarse and broken, as she cried out for him to go faster, harder, deeper until he touched that place that made her eyes roll back in her head and her mouth fall slack.

He felt his body tightening and he pulled away abruptly, flipping Betty easily onto her back and releasing across her stomach. She watched him, her eyes wide and black, her body clenching at nothing, as his orgasm ripped through him. "Holy shit, Betty," he finally muttered. "You're going to kill me."

"Why'd you pull out?" she asked, reaching between her legs and stroking herself idly, her hips rising up to meet her hand.

"I know you don't finish from that position," he said bluntly. She started to say that it didn't matter, and anyway what did that have to do with pulling out? but he cut her off. "Do you swallow?"

"No."

"Neither do I," he said, shoving her legs apart.

Her body immediately responded, as though the momentary pause had never happened. "Harder Juggie," she moaned. "Don't stop." His tongue softened against her, somehow making a perfect contrast to his fingers twisting and curling roughly inside. "Oh God." Her arms flew over her head, clutching the edge of the desk, and she drew her knees up, digging her heels into the leather mat. "Ohh God." Her back arched off the desk, hips pressing into his hand. "Oh my God, Jug, Oh my God, don't stop, don't stop, don't stop."

The scream that was ripped from her throat was like no sound he'd ever heard before. Her body convulsed on the desk, one leg falling limply to his side, the other clamping his head between her thighs as she twisted, trying to escape at the same time as she held him against her, riding out her high. He pressed a reverent kiss to her hip, then stood up and used his shirt to wipe her torso clean as she lay on the desk, panting, her arms sprawled across it like the bar of a T, her chest heaving, unable to speak.

He waited until she held out her arms to him and helped her off the desk, pulling her close and collapsing onto the bed with her.

She swallowed audibly, trying to soothe her aching throat. "Holy fuck, Juggie. That was like something out of my wildest dreams."

"I'm sure you've got wilder dreams than that," he teased, nuzzling her neck.

"None that are so easily carried out," she smiled. "That exceeded expectations."

He tilted her head back and kissed her softly. "Good. You're fun to tease."

"I never would have guessed," she said wryly. "By the way, if Gina ever needs a character reference, tell her to call me."

"Oh? Why's that?"

"She's honest to a fault. You really can breathe through your ears."

…

"I can't believe I let you drag me out of the house when I have my first final tomorrow. I should be studying."

"All work and no play makes Betty a dull girl," Jughead teased, catching her around the waist and swinging her around to face him. "Hi."

"Hey," she whispered, stroking his jaw with her thumb and sliding her fingers into his hair. "Can you believe it's almost over?"

"What is?"

She shrugged, and looked around at the campus park. "Everything: college, living here, everything we've been used to. So many changes in just a few months."

"Not all bad changes, I hope?" Jughead asked, pressing their noses together.

"Some were good," she smiled. "I'll miss everyone else though."

"We have almost 5 months until we really have to go. It's only April."

She bit her lip and pulled away. "About that," she said. "I think we should just go."

"To New York? Now?"

"Not today, obviously. But think about it. Finals are over in two weeks, and then there's nothing keeping us here until the wedding in June. What if we start looking for a place now, and go as soon as we find one? Wouldn't that be better than waiting until the last minute?"

"I guess," he said thoughtfully. "We'll have a hard time affording a place in New York as nice as our apartment here."

"I know," she pouted. "I'm really going to miss that bathroom, but it's all the more reason to start looking for the right place now."

"We can go this weekend? I won't promise you the Mandarin Oriental, which is so Veronica that I can't even wrap my head around it, but we can have a nice mini vacation, get room service, sleep in, scout the area. What do you think?"

She pulled his face down to hers and brushed her lips teasingly against his. "You had me at 'We'."

…

Jughead plucked the post-it note off the fridge and laughed at the message. "Survived last final, barely survived barre with Veronica. Reasserting my inner Ultimate Warrior downstairs. Back soon - Betty xoxo"

He threw his bag into his room, then slapped together a towering turkey sandwich and dropped himself on the sofa. It had been an exhausting two weeks. The entire school was in the throes of finals season, which meant that, in addition to having to meet his own high standards on exams and term papers, work was a nightmare.

The bar was packed every night by students celebrating, commiserating, and generally blowing off steam. Reggie, still dealing with the ongoing drama of what he called Bridezilla vs the Monster-in-Law, had barely been at the bar in the past month which meant that Jughead was working double shifts and handling most of the paperwork.

Frankly, he was beat. He was glad that he and Betty had managed to get away for a few days before chaos had really descended. They hadn't been able to view any apartments, but they had agreed on which neighbourhoods they'd liked, and – more importantly – which ones they didn't like, and agreed wholeheartedly that they each wanted their own room.

Finishing his sandwich, Jughead leaned back against the sofa cushions and kicked his feet up onto the coffee table. He had a rare evening off, and had decided that he was done studying. He only had one final left, and figured that if he hadn't learned the material yet, he'd never know it at all. He laced his fingers behind his head and closed his eyes, just for a second...

When he woke up, Betty was sitting beside him, freshly showered, wearing her wireless headphones and absolutely decimating the opposing team at Battlefield 4. He watched her muttering under her breath with a menacing scowl on her face and rolled his eyes affectionately. Betty's metamorphosis from sweet, sunny, girl-next-door to violent gamer never ceased to amuse him. He waited until the stats came up at the end of the round and poked her in the side.

She jumped and yanked off her headphones. "Hey! Sorry, did I wake you?"

"No," he smiled. "No more COD?"

"I haven't forgiven them for killing Soap. How was your day?"

"It's over, and that's really all that matters. You?"

She laughed and flexed her legs out with a grimace. "Ron dragged me to a barre class with her. It was a lot...peppier...than I expected. I had cheerleading flashbacks."

"Should I expect you to wake up screaming Cheryl's name?"

"I'm not sure what context I should take that in, honestly," she laughed.

"You've got a sick mind, Cooper."

"I think that's long since been established," she said, swivelling around and stretching out across his lap. "You look kind of tired."

"Why thank you, that's just what I wanted to hear," he said dryly. "I'm so done with this semester."

"You're almost finished," she pointed out. "And I am done, so you don't have to worry about housework or cooking at all until everything calms down at work. I'll handle it."

He smiled and leaned over to drop a kiss on her forehead. "Thanks, Betts." He sniffed at her suspiciously. "What's that smell?"

She frowned and raised her wrist to her nose. "Oh!" she laughed. "I ran out of body wash so I borrowed yours."

"First my clothes, and now my beauty products?"

"Your beauty products?" she teased. "You have beauty products?"

He nodded gravely. "It takes a lot of effort to wake up looking like this, Betts."

"You certainly are a sight for sore eyes. Any tips?"

"Lots of water, regular exfoliation and the occasional Dead Sea mud mask."

"Fuck off," she laughed. "Seriously?"

He just shrugged and looked mysterious. "Speaking of body wash. I've had the week from Hell and I need a drink and a bath. Care to join?"

"A bath? The bath is my bad-day cure. I thought you were just humouring me all these years."

"Another secret out," he sighed. "Deep down, I think I like a good bubble bath almost as much as you do."

"I knew it," she muttered triumphantly, climbing off the couch. "Do we have any wine?"

He nodded and dragged himself up, going into the kitchen to put his plate in the sink. "I picked up a bottle on my way home."

"Cool. You pour, I'll run the bath."  
…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger talk: I would like to reiterate that it is all completely consensual. It involves the use of handcuffs and a pocket knife. Read on for a brief description of the scene:
> 
> Betty is, at her own invitation, handcuffed to a chair and she and Jughead engage in foreplay while she is restrained. He uses a knife to cut off her panties with her consent and with no risk to her person. They have sex with Betty bent over a desk and unable to see him, with Jughead taking on the more dominant role. 
> 
> Let's talk about kink. (I'm acting with an over-abundance of caution here, but with so much bad information about kink/BDSM available - I'm looking at you 50 shades - I feel obligated to provide additional information)
> 
> This story is about Betty and Jughead, and by extension, their sex life. It is not meant to be an instruction manual on how to have sex or explore kink. That being said, I know that fanfiction is where a lot of young people are first introduced to explicit sexual imagery so here we are.
> 
> You will notice that there is no (on screen) pre-negotiation or discussion of a safe word. We know that Betty told Jughead that she had a fantasy about her clothes being cut off. We can assume that, given their other frank conversations, this fantasy was discussed at length, leaving no room for Jughead to have to guess at what she meant.
> 
> We also see that Jughead reaffirms her consent twice during the scene. I don't think they have a safe word in this situation; no means no and that's it. This scene is not a game, it's not a role play. It's heavy teasing with a bit of fantasy exploration, and all (I think) is required for that is absolute trust, which definitely exists here. Betty says stop, Jughead stops. 
> 
> That being said, if you're thinking about letting a partner tie you up, pre-event conversation is absolutely key, and a safe word is probably a good idea. These are fictional characters with an extremely unusual relationship. 
> 
> *Restraint PSA: Handcuffs hurt. They are not recommended for people who are new to restraints. If you do use them, store them LOCKED. That way, you have to find the key and unlock them before you can use them and you don't run the risk of having to call the police to come and set you free at the end of the day. My husband was a cop, he's had to perform that rescue, and I promise you that it's every bit as embarrassing as it sounds. 
> 
> *Disclaimer: Knife play/Edge play is dangerous. Do not just jump in and start accidentally carving up your partner. Jughead never touched Betty with the sharp side of the blade, or put it anywhere near her skin. For actual information about knife play, check out your friendly neighbourhood search engine - I'm definitely not the person to ask.
> 
> *Disclaimer 2: (I almost forgot this one) Breath play is also dangerous, but that's not what's happening here. He's just teasing, not actually cutting off air or blood circulation.  
> Mood killer, eh? I honestly don't think that this particular scene needs this much of a heavy-handed explanation, but I also don't want to be responsible for any bad information going around or upsetting anyone.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter! Probably unnecessary to the plot of the story, but I promised Cheryl's wedding :)
> 
> I've got some ideas for prequels and future one shots of this universe, because I'm frankly having way too much fun with these characters. So, if you like them, keep an eye out :)
> 
> Thank you once again for all of your amazing comments and love for this story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SMUT IN THIS CHAPTER (regular smut, nothing kinky)

"How are you holding up?" Jughead asked Betty, handing her a glass of champagne. "Wishing we were back in New York yet?"

"I've been wishing we were back in New York since we got on the highway," she muttered. "You know I would do anything for Cheryl and Reggie, especially after what they did for us, but why did they have to invite my mother to the rehearsal?"

Jughead shrugged and surveyed the small crowd gathered in the Thornhill conservatory. "I guess Polly's family, so by extension, Alice is as well?"

"Bloody Blossoms and their bloody etiquette."

"I think that still counts as swearing," Jughead chuckled. "Good try, though."

She sighed and swallowed a mouthful of champagne. "I feel like I'm wearing a Hallowe'en costume that doesn't fit anymore."

"Yeah, it's kind of freaky seeing you back in that ponytail. Between that and the dress, you look like Pollyanna," he admitted. "But," he added, whispering low in her ear, "I happen to know that the demure Betty Cooper is wearing absolutely scandalous underthings that I cannot wait to rip to shreds later."

Betty shivered and let her eyes flutter closed for a minute, drawing a deep breath. "You're going to get me in trouble, Jones, saying things like that in public."

He slid his arm around her waist and pulled her into his side. "Why's that?" he murmured against her neck. "Are you picturing it, Betty? Tempted to take me upstairs and make me a man of my word?"

"Always," she whispered, dragging her nail down his jaw, "but for two problems. One, people will notice if the best man disappears before the rehearsal ceremony, and two, this lingerie was way too expensive to destroy."

"It's way too sexy to destroy, but I still can't wait to get my hands on it."

"I might let you watch me take it off, if you're good."

"Promises, promises," he teased. "What'll you let me do if I'm bad?"

"A-hem." Cheryl appeared next to Jughead, looking amused and superior. "I hate to break up whatever's putting that glazed look in Betty's eyes, but it's time for the rehearsal, so could you tear yourselves apart?"

"Reluctantly," Betty teased. "But since it's your party, I suppose we have to play by your rules. Isn't that the way of it?"

Cheryl rolled her eyes. "Don't worry, Cooper. I have no designs on getting your boy-toy into a closet tonight."

"Just marrying him, right, Babe?" Reggie asked, sidling up beside her.

Betty laughed at the poorly-hidden look of discomfort on Jughead's face. "Don't worry, Juggie. You don't actually have to say 'I do'."

"I still don't get why we're bowing to such a ridiculous superstition. Reggie's the one getting married; therefore, he's the one that should rehearse."

"You're the best man: it's your job to make sure he does what he's supposed to when he's overcome with emotion at the mere thought of spending his life with me. _You_ need to rehearse. Plus, it's bad luck for the groom to be in the rehearsal."

"No one who survived a childhood in a house like this should believe in fairy tales, Cheryl."

"Well I do, so man up and marry me," she snapped, turning on her heel and marching up to the altar.

He groaned and looked at Reggie. "Is that how she proposed to you, too?"

"No, she was a lot less subtle with me," he joked. "Go on, man; get a taste of what it means to be Mr Cheryl Blossom."

"God help me," Jughead muttered, walking away.

"Come along, Reginald," Betty said, taking him by the elbow. "You'd better take notes on this. You're the one who has to live with her if you screw it up tomorrow."

…

"Then I will pronounce you husband and wife, kiss the bride et cetera. You'll step back here and sign the register, pose for pictures at the altar, and begin the recessional."

Cheryl nodded her understanding and fixed an intimidating eye on Jughead. "Did you get all that?"

"Yes, Cheryl," he grinned. "Just like I did the first five times." He noticed the look on her face and stepped closer to her, speaking quietly so no one else could hear. "You need to relax, Cher. You love Reggie and Reggie loves you. Whatever happens with timing, or catering or colour schemes is irrelevant. At some point tomorrow, you and he are going to sign that register and belong to each other. Nothing else matters."

"That's our wedding song," she said, smiling wanly. "I'd love to take it to heart, but with so many people watching – most of whom would love to see me fail – it all needs to be perfect."

He offered her his elbow and they turned to walk up the aisle. "Every wedding is perfect. No one comes to look for flaws, and missteps make the day more memorable. You're not planning on spending the rest of your marriage putting on a show for the Blossom board, are you?"

"Of course not."

"Well then? You are a dragon," he said, flicking the end of one of her flaming curls. "Fuck the lions, and fuck the sheep."

"Jughead Jones, the poet-laureate of the Sunnyside Trailer Park," she said, rolling her eyes and trying not to smile.

"I need you to promise me something, Cheryl," he said seriously, turning to her at the doorway. "Tomorrow is your wedding day, and you need to enjoy it. Don't worry about things that don't matter, just _enjoy yourself_. It's supposed to be the happiest day of your life."

She glanced over her shoulder at Reggie. "I promise," she said softly. "As long as you promise to run interference with my mother."

"I was thinking about locking her in a room with Alice and throwing away the key. Seems like the best way to make both of my girls happy."

"Since when am I one of your girls?" she scoffed. "I was horrible to you in high school."

He scratched the back of his neck and grinned self-deprecatingly. "Yeah, I prefer to look at it as preventing me from getting too full of myself. Keeping me humble. Anyway, that was a long time ago."

"That's generous of you," she said dryly.

"As best man, it is my duty to defend and serve the bride. Besides, you make Reggie happy, and you're pretty cool when you're not busy being terrifying."

"You're not so bad yourself, weirdo." She looked away, thoughtful. "Thanks, Jug."

"Any time. Now, go enjoy your party."

She raised her eyebrows delicately. "Trying to get rid of me so you can get back to whispering dirty nothings in Betty's ear? Oh, don't look so shocked. I've felt that expression on my own face too many times not to know what it means."

"That was an overshare. I absolutely did not need to know that," he said with a grimace.

"Whatever. I have lions to flambé. Try not to damage the bed frame; it's older than the White House." She sailed away, head held high, leaving him to follow in her wake.

"What was all that about?" Betty whispered, coming up beside him. "She actually looked happy for a minute."

"Sorry, Betts, spousal privilege." He took her hand and leaned in close. "Alice at my twelve o'clock, and closing in."

Betty sighed and straightened her shoulders, plastering on a perfect smile that made Jughead's skin crawl. He hated watching her put on the image she'd worked so hard to shed.

"Hello, Elizabeth. Forsythe," Alice said, her voice polite but strained.

"Hello, Mom," Betty said, squeezing Jughead's hand almost to the point of cutting off circulation. "How are you?"

"Fine, thank you. Polly tells me you're moving to New York?"

Betty nodded, still smiling. "Jughead got funding to do his Master's at Elmhurst, and we found an apartment in Queens. We've just finished moving in." She fished in her purse and pulled out a calling card. "This is our new address."

Alice raised an eyebrow as she accepted the card. "I wouldn't have expected you to keep up such an archaic tradition, never mind share your address with me."

"I was raised to have manners. People showing up unannounced at my house and insulting my friends has a poor effect on me," she said blandly. Jughead gripped her hand warningly, as if to remind her that this was not the place.

"Just your friends?" Alice asked archly. "I've heard rumours that there may be more to it than that."

Betty sighed. "If you're asking whether Jughead and I are dating, the answer is yes. It's going on four months, now."

"I see. And is that why you've abandoned your education and moved? You're following _Jughead_?"

"No, Mother, it's not. I have a job at the forensic psychiatric hospital in New York. I start in two weeks."

Alice sniffed. "Working with the criminally insane and going home to the son of a gangbanger. You certainly won't have a boring life."

Jughead stiffened. "I'd like to think that there's more to me than that, Alice."

"Of course there is," Betty snapped. "Elmhurst doesn't just hand out funding because the board is feeling generous."

"Even the best schools accept charity cases," Alice said dismissively.

"Certainly, that's true," Jughead nodded. "And isn't it funny how so many of those cases are from the South Side? Come to think of it, isn't it interesting how so many Serpents and Southsiders fall into writing?" He looked pointedly at Alice before turning to Betty. "Will you excuse me? I need to check in with Reggie."

She nodded and he smiled at her briefly before walking away.

"That was uncalled for, Mother. Whatever FP may have done does not reflect on Jughead."

Alice sipped absently from a martini glass. "You know, Elizabeth, I always thought that you persisted in your friendship with that boy because you knew it annoyed me. I have to say that I thought more highly of you when I thought you were just being defiant. Now I know you really were foolish."

"Falling in love with him was the smartest thing I ever did."

"Love, is it?" Alice asked silkily. "What does someone like him know about love?"

"More than you ever will," Betty sneered. "I'm lucky to have him, and any children we may have will be lucky, too. Luckier than I was."

"Children," Alice laughed incredulously. "You must be joking. Tell me you wouldn't actually stoop to marry a Jones?"

Betty smiled serenely and spoke in her sweetest voice. "Tomorrow, if he asked me. Don't worry, I'll send you an announcement. Excuse me, I need to speak to Cheryl." She turned and walked away, fuming.

"Well then, little sister. That looked like fun," Cheryl murmured. "I'm sorry she's here; Mommy invited her. I take it you came away the winner?"

"I gave her something to stew about," Betty allowed, "but she drew first blood. Have you seen Jug?"

"Not since he gave me a surprisingly insightful pep talk. Reggie's in the game room; try there."

"Thanks, Cher. Do you mind if we turn in? I'd like to avoid another scene."

Cheryl looked at her sympathetically. "Of course not. Jackson took your cases up to the blue room, one of the maids can show you the way. See you in the morning; breakfast will be at 7."

Betty hugged her tightly. "Don't stay up too late, you've got a big day ahead of you."

An excited smile briefly flashed across Cheryl's face. "I can't wait," she admitted. "But don't tell anyone."

…

Betty did find Jughead in the game room with Reggie and the rest of the male half of the bridal party. She hovered in the doorway until he caught her eye, then nodded towards the hall and backed away, leaning against the ornate wood paneling. He came out a few minutes later, closing the door behind him.

"Hey," he said quietly, resting his hands on her hips and bending his neck so their foreheads touched. "I'm sorry for leaving you alone with her."

She shook her head and smiled. "It would have completely ruined the effect of your parting shot if you'd stayed. _I'm_ sorry for what she said to you."

"It doesn't matter. I've recovered." He reached up and pulled the elastic out of her hair. "You look way too put together. It's not you anymore, Betts."

"I know," she murmured, tilting her head and speaking against his lips. "Let's go upstairs. I want you to take me apart."

…

In the four months that they'd been together, Betty and Jughead had made love in every conceivable way. They knew everything about each other; their likes, their dislikes, their secret desires. Jughead could read Betty like a book and he always knew exactly what she wanted. Sometimes she wanted him to fuck her into oblivion, sometimes she wanted him to seduce her with pretty words and sweet kisses. Sometimes the filth that poured out of his mouth made her so wet that he could barely manage to stay inside of her.

Tonight, she wanted him to break her down. She wanted her defenses destroyed, her poise shattered, her self-control annihilated. She wanted to be breathless and mindless and aching with need for him.

He had her halfway there before the guestroom door was shut, tearing her dress in his haste to get her out of it. In his defense, she'd hated it as much as he did and neither of them were going to lament the loss of a few buttons. The stiff pink fabric pooled at her feet and she kicked it impatiently away, sliding her leg around his hip as he pressed her back to the door; his mouth hot and demanding on hers, his hands skimming over the black mesh chemise she'd worn as her personal form of secret rebellion.

(Really, if all of her rebellious moments manifested in trips to Frederick's, he'd be okay with that.)

Her arms twisted around him like a climbing vine, her nails sweeping up the fine linen of his shirt and into his hair as he explored her body, his grip firm and unyielding, roaming across bare skin and clinging fabric. Her breath came faster when he took a step forward, anchoring her to the door, one hand sliding between her thighs, his fingers stroking over her dripping core. He broke away from their kiss and dragged his lips up her jaw to her ear. "So wet already, and we haven't even started," he whispered, pushing one finger into her and searching with his thumb until she moaned and arched against him. "I love it when you make that sound."

"I know," she said quietly, letting her head fall back against the door. He scraped his teeth lightly against her neck, kissing slowly down to her shoulder as he moved his hand against her in an agonizingly slow rhythm. "Oh, God, Jug," she breathed, "keep doing that."

He smiled wickedly against her throat and pulled away. Kissing her pouting lips, he shrugged out of his jacket and bunched her chemise in his hands, gathering it up and whisking it over her head. "Lie on the bed," he told her, going over to the window to close the curtains.

"I feel like there's a serious discrepancy in how we're both dressed," she said teasingly, propping herself up on her side and watching him walk toward her.

"Patience," he said, unbuttoning his shirt and pulling it loose from his trousers.

"That's a really good look for you," she said appreciatively. "I still think you're overdressed, though."

He crawled across the massive bed and dipped his head, taking her mouth in a wet kiss, his tongue moving against hers in a way that bordered on obscene. She reached up and slid her hands under his shirt and around his back, pulling him down and flipping him over.

"Is that right?" he asked, looking up at her. She just flicked an eyebrow at him and leaned over to trail her lips down his chest. "Where are you going, Elizabeth?"

"Down," she said simply, unbuckling his belt.

He sat up and caught her hands, stopping her. "I can't tell you how tempting that sounds, but I'd rather you came up," he said, moving his hands to her hips and slithering under her. "I skipped dessert."

"Well we can't have th- Oh, my _God_ , Jughead." She reached down and grabbed his hair, spreading her legs wider and pressing against his wandering tongue. " _Fuck_ , don't stop."

He smoothed his hands up her waist and cupped her breasts, rolling her nipples between his fingers, relishing every unashamed moan and cry she let out. His favourite version of Betty was the one with no inhibitions; the one she'd always been with him but that the rest of the world rarely got to see. He loved looking up at her, watching the changing expressions on her face as he brought her just to the edge and then retreated, kissing the inside of her thigh while she calmed down, then pressed his lips to her and started again, and again.

Finally, she pushed herself away and collapsed on the bed, tense and glassy-eyed, reaching for him blindly and tugging him against her. "God, Juggie," she breathed. "Please."

He kissed her deeply, taking more than giving, until she was gasping for breath and clinging to him, running her hands feverishly over his shoulders, pushing his shirt off. She groped for his belt and tugged it open. He pulled away, dragging his pants and shorts off, and kicking them away with his shoes and socks. "I love you so much, Betty," he whispered against her throat, leaning over her and pushing her legs apart. "So fucking much."

She shifted under him, catching his face in her hands and kissing him fiercely. "Show me," she gasped. She watched him as he entered her slowly; inch by throbbing inch. They'd done this countless times but she never grew bored of the intensity of his gaze, or the shuddering breath he let out as she took him all the way in.

His elbows rested on either side of her head, one hand cradling her neck, the other splayed across her cheek, his fingers in her hair, his thumb pressing under her jaw. "Look at me, baby," he said as her eyelashes fluttered shut. Her eyes snapped open and locked onto his as he pulled out and surged back into her slowly, his body rigid above hers with only his hips moving, curling into her deeper than she thought possible. She was already wound so tightly that it didn't take long for him to bring her to the brink again. He started to reach between them, but she stopped him. "Not tonight," she whispered, pressing her chest against his. "This is enough. This is perfect."

He pressed his lips together, fighting the heat spreading through his body, intensified by the agonizing pace he had set. "I'm not going to last, Betts," he warned, catching at her swollen lips.

"Neither am I," she moaned, wrapping her legs around him. "Just keep doing that."

She felt him start to shake, saw sweat break out on his forehead as her own body tightened around him. His smooth thrusts faltered and grew choppy. "God, yes, Jug – just like that" she gasped, pulling his head down and crushing his mouth against hers. "God, yes – yes - _yes_ …"

"Fuck, baby, please – I can't," he panted, sweat dripping down his face, his arms trembling. He moved faster in spite of himself. "Betty, God, I'm begging you," he groaned.

 _"Yes,_ I'm almost there. Come with me, let me feel you... _God yes_ ," she hissed, her hands flying to his hips and coaxing him on. "FUCK!"

He felt her snap, her climax tearing through her and he let go, dropping his head to the pillow and shouting into it, slamming his hips into her and twisting his hands into the sheets, his breath coming in gasps as his body stuttered against her until he shuddered and collapsed, half on top of her. "Oh my God, Betty," he whispered, pressing his lips to her neck. "I love you."

"I love you," she murmured, turning her head and kissing him softly. "Thank you."

He rolled to the side and propped himself up on his elbow, draping his other arm over her waist. "What for?" he asked, stroking her hip gently with his thumb.

"For always knowing what I need," she said, turning over and facing him. "And I don't just mean in bed. You're the only person who's ever been able to shake me out of the Alice Cooper mold." She pushed his shoulder gently and leaned over him, stroking his damp hair off his forehead. "I'm always myself with you, and I always feel like that's good enough."

"That's because it is good enough," he said, sitting up and cupping her neck. "You are the best person I know, and you shouldn't have to hide any part of yourself from anyone. You are perfect."

She winced and tried to pull away but he held her fast, pressing his forehead to hers. "You get crumbs in the peanut butter, you leave your homework everywhere, you snore like a freight train when you drink, you're bitchy as fuck when you're tired, you're brilliant and beautiful and generous. You sing like an angel, and you're probably the funniest person I've ever met. The Betty Cooper I know is perfect."

"God damnit, Jug," she laughed, wiping her eyes. "I'm supposed to be praising you here."

"Don't ever thank me for loving you, Betty. That's all it is. I love you, plain and simple, and being there for you is the least I can do."

…

"I swear to God, Betty, I'm going to kill her," Cheryl muttered, pacing in the corner of Thornhill's master suite. "I'm going to spend my wedding night in jail."

Betty glanced over her shoulder at Josie, the maid of honour, who just shrugged. "You can't kill your Mom, Cheryl; she hasn't paid the caterer yet."

"She changed the floral arrangements. This morning. Without telling me."

"Do the flowers matter?"

"It's the principle of the thing! It's my wedding, and I hate lilies."

Betty sighed. "I do, too, honestly, but it won't matter tomorrow."

"Unless she changed the honeymoon plans, too," Cheryl snorted.

"Reggie booked the honeymoon himself, don't worry."

The door opened and Penelope swept in, leading her granddaughter Elizabeth, Betty and Cheryl's niece, by the hand.

"Hold me back, Betty, I mean it," Cheryl snarled.

"Hey. Relax; just go to the bathroom and lock the door. There's a bottle of white wine and a glass under the sink, and my tablet's in there, too. Just, take ten."

She muscled Cheryl into the bathroom and turned to face the room, clasping her hands and smiling brightly. "How is everyone? Can I get anyone anything?"

Betty wasn't a bridesmaid; Cheryl had specifically asked her to be there on the wedding day as her personal sanity monitor. Essentially, a Girl Friday for the bridal party, keeping the high-maintenance group of women happy and keeping Cheryl from going off the deep end. Betty had happily agreed; she was much more comfortable behind the scenes and she was flattered that Cheryl considered her a close enough friend to not be insulted by the request.

She hadn't signed up to deal with Penelope, though.

"No, Betty, dear. Why don't you sit down and rest?" Penelope answered for everyone, settling down onto an overstuffed armchair.

Betty's eyes widened at the thought that Penelope intended to stay with the bridal party. The bridesmaids looked at each other, horror-struck.

"Of course, Mrs Blossom. Thank you," Betty said, smiling sweetly. She reached into her purse and pulled out her cell phone, sending an SOS text to Jughead. "Isn't everything going beautifully?" she asked.

"As well as any wedding, I suppose," she sighed. "What Cheryl was thinking about the flowers is beyond me but we got it sorted out in the end."

"That's good," Betty replied politely. She was racking her brains for something neutral to say when she heard a knock at the door. It cracked open and Jughead's face appeared, his hand over his eyes.

"Everyone decent?" he asked.

Veronica laughed. "Physically, at least. Our moral decency is debatable."

"Close enough," he grinned, coming into the room. "I'm sorry to barge in, but I need to steal the mother of the bride, if I may. The caterers appear to be going with the Windsor plate setting and we're concerned that it's a little passé. Would you mind setting them straight, Penelope?"

She stood up and straightened her elegant dress. "Of course, Forsythe. You're quite right. Thank you for bringing it to my attention."

"Of course," he said neutrally. "I'm not sure you're supposed to look so lovely today; it isn't fair to the bride," he added with a roguish wink.

Betty turned her head quickly to hide her laugh. They'd been watching wedding movies all week, storing away ideas to keep Penelope happy and out of Cheryl's way. He'd declared Steve Martin to be his idol, right down to the blue tuxedo.

"Stop," Penelope chuckled, waving her hand in faux-dismissal. "I'm far too old for you to be flirting with."

"Not at all," he said gallantly. "The prettiest woman in the room, by far."

" _Forsythe_ ," she laughed. "You're incorrigible. I remember your father was charming, as well." She patted his cheek fondly and swept out of the room as imperiously as she'd entered it.

Betty tapped on the bathroom door. "Coast is clear, Bridezilla."

Cheryl poked her head out the door. "Ugh, thank God. How much longer?"

"We have to get dressed pretty soon," Josie answered. "The ceremony's in an hour."

"I should have just dragged him to the courthouse the day he proposed," she lamented, dropping into her mother's chair. "Didn't I see Lilibet come in? Where is she?"

"Here, Aunty Cheryl," the tiny red-head announced, popping out from behind Polly. "You look pretty."

"Thanks, baby girl," Cheryl smiled. "So do you."

"Just like Cinderella," Jughead added. "Will you save me a dance, Princess?" he asked, crouching down to the little girl's level.

"No," she pouted, pursing her lips. "Mommy said I'm not allowed to go to the party."

He put his hand to his heart in mock outrage. "What? Well, then I'll have to get my dance now." He held out his arm to her and she took it, giggling. "You're funny, Uncle Jughead." He scooped her up and held her chubby hand, waltzing around the room with her. "Are you going to marry Aunty Betty?"

"Maybe when we grow up," he said seriously, spinning around. "And maybe you can be the flower girl again."

"Really?" she squealed. "And wear a pretty dress?"

"The prettiest dress," he promised, kissing her cheek and setting her down. "I have to go make sure Uncle Reggie's socks match. Thanks for the dance, Princess."

"You're welcome," she said politely. "See you at the wedding."

"I'm off ladies, let me know if I need to start knocking over statues or pulling fire alarms. Can't throw the caterer under the bus twice in one day." He winked at Cheryl and backed out of the room, throwing a kiss at Betty on the way.

"So that was freaking adorable," Veronica said.

Midge sighed dramatically. "Gorgeous, charming and good with kids. Where can I get one of those?"

"You've got one of those," Betty said, rolling her eyes. "So hands off. Mine's taken."

"I'm starting a pool. My money's on a ring by Christmas, wedding next year," Cheryl said.

Betty blushed and shook her head, staring at the ceiling. "Not happening, girls."

"They've been married since they were twelve, anyway," Nancy said. "At this point, it's just a formality."

"Okay, that's enough. It's Cheryl's day. And it's time all of you were getting dressed," Betty said firmly, unzipping garment bags. "Hop to, ladies. Don't want to keep the groom waiting."

…

The wedding went off without a hitch, right down to Reggie breaking down in tears at the sight of Cheryl floating down the aisle on her brother's arm. Betty, sitting in the front row, found herself tearing up as well, watching the two of them saying their vows as though they were the only people in the world. She caught Jughead's eye and mouthed "I love you,", feeling her heart flutter when he mouthed it back.

After what felt like hours of photographs and cocktails, and endless courses of exquisite and unidentifiable food, Jughead stood up and tapped lightly on his glass.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said into the sudden silence. "I'm Jughead Jones, Reggie's best man, and I'd like to propose a toast. To the bride, whose beauty is only eclipsed by her bravery in taking on Reggie; and to the groom, who I have known since second grade and therefore have the experience to state has improved with age and can only grow into a better man with Cheryl to keep him in line. I love you both and wish you all the luck in the world. May you grow old and happy together, and may more than little fences run around your garden. To Cheryl and Reggie."

"To Cheryl and Reggie," came the echo.

"If you'd be so kind as to clear the floor for the first dance." Jughead stepped down from the podium and made his way to Betty's table. "Hey," he smiled. "I feel like I haven't seen you all day. You look stunning."

"It's been hectic, that's for sure," she laughed, bumping her forehead against his. "I liked your speech."

"Not too cheesy?"

"Just cheesy enough. Very classy."

He squeezed her hand and they turned to watch Cheryl and Reggie waltz around the floor. "I never thought of Metallica as very wedding-y," mused Jughead.

"It's the orchestra version," Betty shrugged. "And you have to admit, it's a very romantic song."

The DJ came over the speaker, inviting the guests to join the newlyweds on the floor.

"Would you like to dance?" he asked.

"I'd love to." They joined the crowd on the dancefloor, moving in step with no space between them. "How did I not know you could waltz?"

He grinned and whispered in her ear. "Reggie and I have been practicing at work. He made me be the girl."

"Please tell me there's video."

"Probably security footage," he shrugged. "He'd sell it to you for a batch of cookies."

"And implicate himself? No chance."

Jughead twirled her and pulled her back in flawlessly. "It's the twenty-first century, Betts. Reggie's a modern guy."

"Obviously," she scoffed. "But he'd never confess to having to actually practice something. Aren't we supposed to believe he was born an expert at everything?"

"That's true," he said ponderously. "Guess you'll have to just use your imagination, but try not to get too hot and bothered. I know it's a tempting image, but control yourself."

"I make no promises. Tiffany could use some new material."

He rolled his eyes. "Somehow I doubt the clients that call to talk to you would be interested in the story of two guys dancing."

"Must you always cloud the issue with facts?" she sighed. "Great wedding, hey?"

"It should be, with the amount of work they put into it." He glanced over at Cheryl and Reggie who had abandoned their waltz and were just swaying together, whispering and smiling. "They're happy, and that's what really matters."

"Do you want to get married?" Betty asked suddenly.

"Yeah, I do," he laughed. "Are you asking?"

"Maybe. I want to do it properly though, after we finish school and get jobs."

"So, say in four years, if I happened to pull out a ring and get down on one knee-"

"I'd say yes."

He dipped her and pressed a soft kiss to her lips. "It's a date then. Four years from today."

"I'll be there."

***


End file.
